


Fight on Undaunted

by sati_lotus



Category: True Blood
Genre: AU from S3, Angst, Backstory, Explicit Sexual Content, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Original Character(s), Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-03-15
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-17 00:13:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 72,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sati_lotus/pseuds/sati_lotus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the threat of Sophie-Anne and the Authority still hovering, Eric hadn't worried about Russell's warning.   When Godric is mysteriously resurrected, he realises that maybe he should have.  Set post S3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Summary:** With the threat of Sophie-Anne and the Authority still hovering, Eric hadn't worried about Russell's warning. When Godric is mysteriously resurrected, he realises that maybe he should have. Set post S3.

 **Pairing:** Godric/ Eric.

 **Rating** : NC-17.

 **Warnings:** Angst, slash, bloodplay, violence, torture. If you're mature enough to watch True Blood, I think you'll be fine reading this.

 **Disclaimer:** True Blood belongs to Alan Ball and the SVM books belong to Charlaine Harris. Only the original characters are mine.

 

**Fight on Undaunted**

 

Eric slumped into his desk chair and buried his face in his hands, exhausted.  The past week had been nerve wracking and combined with the... difficulties... of the week before in Dallas, he was surprised that it had taken this long for him to feel this tired.  He glanced at his hand, unfurling his long fingers, remembering how it had felt out in the sun.  Hot, like fire, yet it had none of a fire's fierce heat. It was gentle warmth, vastly different to the cool light the moon offered.  Had the sun felt like that when Godric had...  




He did not finish that thought because Pam stormed in, still in her fluffy pink robe, a comb in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other. 

"I have to fix your hair."

Bits of dried cement flaked off his skin as he made a face.  Normally, he was happy to let her play around with his hair, but when she was pissed off, she wasn't gentle.  "Can't it wait?"

"No.  You're meant to be in the club tomorrow night."

He considered arguing with her.  He looked at the red comb in her hand and saw the tight grip she had on it, her chipped fingernails leaving deep indents in the cheap plastic.  Her earlier smugness at having killed Ruben had worn off and she was anxious again.  Despite the victory over Russell and Bill, his problems were not over yet. 

With a resigned sigh, he leaned back.

Pam carefully separated each section of hair, inspecting each bit before working on it.  She jerked on his hair as she meticulously picked out the drying cement. 

"Ow!"

"Shut up, you big sissy."

He growled when she yanked again, and after a few minutes of incessant pulling as she picked and snagged, he gave up.  Eric decided that he had endured more than enough pain for one day and brushed her off.  He raised his index finger.

"One.  Ruben tried to kill you."

A second finger.  "Two.  Sophie-Anne."

Another.  "Three.  Nan Flanagan and the Authority."

He smiled sourly as he held up his pinky.  "Four.  Finding a new assassin."

Much to his relief, Pam lowered her weapons and rested against the desk, pondering the problems.  She tapped the comb against her chin, thoughtful. 

"Bill must have called Ruben from your phone," she said eventually, huffily adding, "I can't _believe_ you didn't kill him."

"Ruben was awfully quick to go after you though," Eric pointed out, letting her dig about Bill pass.  "Or I managed to hire the most obedient assassin in history."

"Or the dumbest."  Pam ignored Eric's withering look.  "Ruben must have already had an offer," she said grimly. 

He'd had the same thought.  "Who by?"

"Sophie-Anne or Nan Flanagan."

"Logical choices."

"I'm your Queen," Pam mimicked Sophie-Anne's haughty voice, making him smile, "and you have stupidly decided to betray me.  What would I do?"

"Attack anyone I held dear," Eric replied instantly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.  It was the oldest trick in the book and one they'd used numerous times with great success.  Pam nodded and continued. 

"I'm a very young – and rather stupid – Queen and the other Royals are my elders by centuries.  I secretly got married and then my new husband goes crazy and disappears, possibly even... _killed_.  Now I'm a Queen ruling over two kingdoms.  "

"A good point, o' Stupid Queen," Eric mused.  "Other Royals might be suspicious of you.  You'll need all the help you can get right now.  Finding those that are still loyal to you and wiping out traitors is important at this crucial stage."  He made a face.  "And _you_ recommend Ruben to me." 

Pam's voice changed, perfectly capturing the smarmy scorn of Nan Flanagan.  "Eric Northman, you are a walking, talking, public relations catastrophe.  You have betrayed a Queen and a King." 

"Additionally, you may be charged with the murder of Russell Edgington, if Queen Sophie-Anne, Russell's entitled wife, wishes to press charges."  Pam smiled grimly, leaning down to whisper in his ear, "And if you are charged, be sure to keep in mind that the Authority will not acknowledge any claims that you were requested to take care of Russell."

"I understand the charges, Ms Flanagan," he said after a moment's consideration.  "I would like to take the time to point out that with Magnus and Russell out of the picture, I **am** one of the oldest vampires in America."

He smiled, continuing.  "As such, I do not want to see any further harm come to our cause of mainstreaming with the humans.  We've all suffered thanks to Russell's extremist acts.  Another approached me and asked for help in subduing Russell Edgington." He grinned broadly.  "I agreed to help Bill Compton purely because I thought it in our best interests to do so.  Bill killed Russell, not me." 

Pam whacked him on the head with the comb.  "And Talbot?"

"Shit," Eric muttered, trying to think.  After a few minutes, all he could come up with was: "He died doing something fun."

Pam yanked on his hair.  "Idiot," she snapped.  "That won't help us."

"I'm well aware of that," he shot back, rubbing his aching scalp.  "But I don't have any... formal... motivation for killing Talbot."  He sighed.  "This would be a lot easier if I was trying to claim a kingdom."

Pam rolled her eyes.  By vampire law, killing another vampire during an act of war was acceptable.  Unfortunately, this situation did not count.  She adopted a voice she'd become well versed with over the course of a few painful hours. 

"Well, Mr Northman, we do want to make sure the punishment fits the crime, don't we?" she purred.  Eric's scowl deepened, listening as she spoke like the Magister.  He might be gone now, but the vampire that stepped up to replace him would no doubt be equally as pompous.  "I think a fitting punishment for you would be..." Pam's voice shifted from the Magister's arrogant voice to her own, now miserable and subdued, "... to kill your own progeny."    




"I would never let that happen," Eric said immediately.  Pam stood up, patted him on the shoulder, and returned to the task of fixing his hair. 

"I know, Eric.  I know."

The following silence wasn't awkward, but Eric broke it anyway.

"I'm glad you're able to handle yourself Pam, but still – you might have at least _questioned_ him instead of outright _killing_ him!"

She snickered.  "We'll find someone new," she said breezily, as though vampire assassins were a dime a dozen.  "Also, we have to hire a new dancer."

He grimaced, looking at the mess on his desk.  With all the drama of his visit to Dallas and then with Russell, he'd neglected Fangtasia.  Chow and one of the humans would have covered for him as much as they could, but Eric actually enjoyed managing the club, as well as his other side enterprises.  The vampire attorney hadn't been kidding when he'd told Pam that if Eric died, she would be a very wealthy woman. 

Someone had had kindly left some junk mail on his desk.  He browsed through them, only having to grumble occasionally if Pam yanked accidently.  A shoe catalogue caught his interest.  He needed a new pair of sneakers thanks to his favourite red ones being ruined by cement.  Perhaps he should make Bill buy him a new pair before he framed him for Russell's murder.

"What do you think of these?"

Pam inspected the picture of red Nike Air Force 1 Hi Premium Leather Futura Men's Shoe, on sale for $110.00. 

"I think you owe me a new pair of shoes," she retorted.  He laughed, remembering her ruined pink shoes.  To prove her point, she grabbed a fashion magazine from her purse and held it out to him, pointing to a pair of tan and black boots. 

Apparently, Chanel's _Colour faded suede calfskin platform boots_ cost more than his entire wardrobe put together.  Since he usually wore jeans, tracksuits, and T-shirts, that wasn't really saying much.

"If you buy a pair of shoes that cost thousands of dollars," he said, raising an eyebrow, "I'll move you from door bouncer to main dancer."

Dancing took far more effort than Pam was willing to put into a job.  Sighing in disgust, Pam gave his hair a final yank.  "This will have to do.  You can wash the rest out.  And if you fuck it up again, I'll shave it off."

Dawn was far off enough for them to each spend the day in the comfort of their own homes.  Eric couldn't wait to sleep in his own bed – it had been a busy night.  He was so tired that he even felt brain dead.  A zombie.  That thought made him smile until he remembered that zombies weren't anything to laugh about.

"I'm going to be late tomorrow night," Pam declared as they locked the club up.  "I have to go to Home Depot to get some paint.  I'm redoing my living room." 

"Can't wait to see it," he said.  Considering how often she redecorated, he wondered why she bothered to tell him these things, especially when she knew he had no interest whatsoever in house decorating.  She saw the sniggering look on his face and thrust an old cell phone at him. 

"You can keep the emergency phone."  She smiled innocently.  "If Ginger calls, be sure to tell her I said hi."

He looked at the phone after she'd left.  A flip phone – how quaint.  He hated flip phones.  Definitely had to get his back from Bill.  Plus, Ginger being able to ring him? 

He glanced back at the club, and then sent Pam a text message.

_"Get paint to cover the graffiti.  Something pretty."_


	2. Chapter Two

The outside was nice enough, a simple one storey brick house, a patio out the back and the gardens were well maintained, several large trees out the back allowed a little privacy.  The inside however...

The white was practically blinding.  White walls, white tiles, white carpet, white furniture.  Although Pam insisted the colours were eggshell, cream, ivory, pearl, old lace, vanilla, and marshmallow.  At least he'd been able to stop her before she started putting up lace curtains. 

Before the vampires had made their presence known to the world, he'd lived in this house and the main reason he'd picked this place was because it had a basement.  The basement was almost the same size as the house, but there were only four rooms.  He had renovated the downstairs area to suit his needs and it was where he spent most of his time.  Just a bathroom, his bedroom, a small living room and his home office.  There was a light tight room in the main part of the house, but he used the upstairs as a decoy and made his living area in the basement. 

Godric had taught him that the safest way to hide in a human home was in a basement or a cellar, and so that was where he slept. 

 As he locked the front door, he realised he could smell dried blood.  He looked around, alarmed.  Who could have broken into the house?  Russell?  A minion of Sophie-Anne's? Someone acting on the orders of the Authority?  More concerning: whose blood was it? 

Following the scent, he went into the living room and stopped, staring at the white sofa.  Of course.  His suitcase from his trip to Dallas, still unpacked.

He slowly undid the zip and pulled out the black shirt he'd been wearing the morning Godric had met the sun. 

 

_Please, Godric._

_Father, brother, child. Let me go._

_I won't let you die alone._

_Yes, you will.  As your Maker, I command you._

 

It was soaked with his tears of blood.

So much had happened since then... His anguished tears were now hard and brittle. Eric stared down at the shirt, gripping it tightly.  All he could see was Godric's face, his eyes shining with love, but behind that, his Maker's weary sorrow was all too plain.

Anger suddenly boiled up in him and he began ripping the shirt to shreds, black wisps of material going all over the place.  _Why?  Why?  Two thousand years was enough?  Boredom?  How was that an explanation?   There are many older vampires, they certainly aren't bored with their lives.  What would make Godric want to do this?_

The material settled around his feet.  _Do this_ , he thought again, disgusted with himself.  He spun around, making for the stairs.  _It's already done.  Godric's **dead**_. 

He got in the shower and turned the hot water up as high as possible.  Hot needles of water hit him, steam rising quickly.  The concrete dust came off almost instantly.

 _I don't want to think about Godric_ , he thought, grabbing the shampoo.  The perfume of artificial citrus mingled with the cloud of steam.   _I **won't** think about Godric._  

Gradually all the damned concrete came out of his hair.  He slumped against the wall, bleakly staring at the tiles in front of him.

 

_Two thousand years is enough._

_I can't accept this. It's insanity!_

_Our **existence** is insanity.  We don't belong here._

_But we are here!_

_It's not right. We're not right._

_You taught me there was no right or wrong.  Only survival or death!_

_I told a lie, as it turns out._

 

 _So is this how I'll remember Godric then?_ Pale from starvation, wearied from the weight of the centuries, and the sad resignation as he tried to be gentle against the anguished anger.  He turned the water off.

He flopped onto the huge unmade bed, not even bothering to pull down the sheets.  He stared up at the ceiling, trying to make a mental list of things to do tomorrow night.  _Think of anything but Godric_. 

Hopefully, it would just be dull, human problems and he wouldn't have to worry about anything vampire related.  _That would be nice_ , he thought sleepily.  The past few weeks had been the most turbulent he'd had in awhile.  Perhaps someday, decades, or maybe centuries, in the future, he would look back on all this and laugh. 

As the sun rose and sleep crept up on him, he rolled over to get comfortable, his thoughts drifting into nothingness.  His eyes began to close.

Godric was sitting in the corner of the room.

Eric lifted his head, expecting the figure to disappear as full consciousness came back to him.  Godric continued to stare at him.  He looked just as he had earlier in the night when Eric had last seen him, mournful and angered.

"Godric?" he said slowly, uncertain of what he was seeing.  The figure's dark grey eyes flickered to his face, focusing on him, but didn't respond.

_Lying on the asphalt, he'd thought it was a dying vision.  Despite the agonising pain, he'd felt grateful that Godric was there with him at the end.  It seemed fitting that his Maker should be there as he burned to death, just as he had been the first time he'd died._

_Then Godric had spoken._

_"Forgive him, Eric.  End all this hate, while you still can.  Forgiveness is love.  Love is all."_

_A flash of the first time he'd seen Godric hit him, his chin dripping blood, fangs gleaming in the darkness, utterly unrepentant that he'd just killed Eric's two friends.  It seemed ridiculous that his Maker, once so merciless, was now philosophical, about love, of all things._

_"Only peace follows death," Godric continued gently.  "For all.  Even for him."_

_He remembered his baby sister, Grid, his only sibling that had lived longer than a month.  Only a few months old, he'd marvelled over her every time he held her tight in his arms.  Covered with blood, her little neck broken, shaken to death by a werewolf._

_His beautiful mother Astrid , sweet and loving, always forgiving her quarrelsome son and husband, and patiently smoothing out their fights.  Curled up beside the cradle, killed protecting her daughter._

_He remembered his father's last labouring breaths, holding on long enough to hear his son promise vengeance, and then the air left Ulfrik's lungs a final time._

_Leaving him with dizzying horror, strange things flashing through his head – my parents will never see my children, my father's crown is missing, a wolf just turned into a man, what would Grid's first word have been – and the terrifying realisation that everything had been ripped apart._

_Murdered for goats on Russell's orders.  Goats!_

_Russell deserved no peace.  A thousand years spent tracking him down, only for him to be at peace?_

_**No.** _

 

 _Thinking he was there to witness Russell's defeat, Bill was now making a pretentious show of triumph._   It was annoying, but Eric could tolerate it.  He was about to fulfil a promise made over a millennia ago.  _Centuries of being robbed of vengeance would end and the burden would be gone._

_Having Godric there again, still begging for him to show mercy actually felt insulting._

_"Everyone deserves peace, Eric."_

_Beneath Russell's mocking laughter, Eric heard the screams of his mother and the dying gasps of his father._

_How could Godric say that?  Only his Maker had ever known just how deep his anger went.  He'd spent many nights listening to Eric talk about his butchered family, calming him down when he got angry.  He'd even offered suggestions on how to kill the mysterious wolf-master – entombing him alive had been one of his ideas!_

_"You make me bleed, my child.  So much hatred."_

_Godric had told his newly turned Child that some day he would be able to kill and enjoy it.  Eric protested furiously, insisted that wasn't true.  Yet under Godric's watchful instruction, he'd realised that his bloodthirsty Maker was right._

_He could enjoy it.  Now he was able to fulfil his final promise to his father and Godric wanted him to feel ashamed for it?_

_The **hypocrite**. _

_"This is who I am, Godric.  This is what you made!"_

_Once, Godric would have smiled about this, would have agreed that it was a fitting punishment, but now he looked troubled._

_Russell commanded his attention again.  "You will regret this."_

_"Maybe. But right now it feels fucking good."_

_Despite everything, the look of sorrow on Godric's face as he'd stepped away, vanishing into thin air, pained him deeply, and brought tears to his eyes._

Not tearing his eyes away from the current vision, he sat up.  "Godric?" he repeated, growing more alarmed with each passing second. 

"What are you -" Eric began, but before he could finish his sentence, the phantom whispered something and disappeared.  Eric got up and walked over to the spot. 

The air wasn't disturbed, the spot wasn't warm, no sign of magic.  What had it been then?  He sat down, confused and worried.  _If it's Godric's spirit_ , Eric realised, _then he's found no peace in his own death_.

An icy chill ran through him.  Eric had heard that vampires could not return as ghosts.  But Godric was the only vampire he'd ever encountered that had willingly met the sun.  What if a willing vampire _could_ come back as a ghost?

His mouth quirked in a sardonic smile. From beyond the grave, could Godric still tell him what to do all the time, like he had when he'd just turned Eric?   

His smile faded.  Godric had not wanted that. 

_You make me bleed, my child._

 

He shuddered, trying to shut the words out.  That sentence and the look on Godric's face... it would haunt him.  Godric had said that once to him before and it hurt now just as much as it did then.  Eric leaned back against the wall, staring up at the painting on the wall opposite his bed. 

It was a painting of a Viking longship with an elegantly wrought dragon head at the bow.  The ship was beached, with waves lapping at the stern, yet the brilliant blue sail was full.  A reminder of his short human life.

His gaze drifted down.  Here were the reminders of his long vampire life.  Below the huge painting was a row of hooks, a necklace hanging off each one.

They were all simple leather thongs with a pendant of some sort, some trophies of defeated foes, and others gifts.  A part of a Kelpie's hoof, shaped into a horse.  A werewolf claw, hard and blackened with age.  A blood-red feather from a Fenghuang bird.  A black pearl in the shape of a lightning strike given to him by a mermaid.  A fang that had once belonged to Godric.

He went over and picked the necklace, studying the fang.  Centuries later, it was still white and razor sharp.  He clenched it in his fist, feeling it break the skin, and tried to think of Godric some other way. 

Not sad or angry, not weary or resigned.  Playful, happy, amused, affectionate... anything!  It was no use.

The very last time he'd seen Godric, alive, he'd been looking eastward towards the sun.  He wanted the burning death that the sun would give more than he wanted his Child's love. 

That was what he remembered. 

Eric could already feel blood dripping down his face from being conscious in the daytime.  At least, he hoped that was what it was.

 _Age wasn't the reason_ , Eric thought darkly, _and it wasn't boredom.  There was something else and he wouldn't tell me._

He flung the necklace across the room.  It bounced against the far wall and slid under the dresser.  Whatever it truly was, Eric knew he would never know what had been the breaking point for Godric, convincing him to kill himself.  Only Godric could answer that and he was gone.

He glanced over to the spot where he'd just seen Godric.  Still empty. 

Yet the phantom's words hung in the air.  It had whispered, "I'm sorry." 

And Eric had no idea what that meant.


	3. Chapter Three

**Early autumn, 938 AD.  Sweden.**

 

Eric had woken up beside many, many, _many_ women - but never a dead boy.

 _So young_ , Eric thought as he looked down at him, still partially covered in dirt.  _Such a waste_. 

The boy was dark haired with deathly pale skin, though Eric couldn't tell if it was just his natural colour or due to blood loss.  The boy was covered with dried blood, particularly his mouth, but he could see no visible wounds.  There was nothing overly distinguishing about him, other than the tattoos that covered his collarbone and arms.  Eric peered at the runes engraved into his skin, but their meaning was lost on him.

 _The dead boy isn’t the biggest concern at the moment_ , he reminded himself, looking at the hole he’d just been sharing with the corpse.

Someone had buried him in the ground. 

 _Must have been only a few minutes ago; I didn’t suffocate_.  He looked around, but there was nobody nearby.  _And unless I was extremely drunk, I don’t think I’d let someone bury me under five feet of dirt._

Perhaps he was sobering up.  His memory was hazy, like it usually was after a heavy drinking session with friends, and he felt extremely strange. 

 _This isn’t ale head though,_ he puzzled, _nor is it like the time I ate those wild mushrooms._

Eric was certain it was night, but the light of the moon had not bleached the world of colour.  The moon gods were revealing objects to him that he would normally never be able to see.  Yards away, further than he should have been able to see, he could see a berry bush, the berries as bright and rosy as if he were looking at them during the sunniest part of the day. 

A breeze rustled the forest around him and the sudden cacophony startled him.  It was like the evening wind had summoned every night creature into action.  He could hear wings rustling as nocturnal birds swooped out of their resting spots and he could clearly hear little night animals scurrying about. 

Even the air smelled different.  All type of odours, sweet, musty, damp, filled his nostrils and he struggled to identify them, but there were simply too many to make out.

One scent in particular stood out though.  The dried blood on the boy's skin.  It made him... thirsty.

Eric stepped away, repulsed by what he felt, but unable to look away from the red-brown mess that spattered the boy.  _It won’t be as good as fresh blood._ He grimaced and shook his head to clear the depraved thought from his mind.  The more he stared at it, the more he wanted to bend down and lick it off.   

 _Time to leave_ , he decided, unnerved.  Immediately, two problems presented themselves.

Firstly, he wasn't sure where he was.

Secondly, and by far the more troubling of the two, his sword was missing. 

He swore loudly, using every curse he knew.  His sword was one of his most treasured possessions.  Beautifully wrought by his great, great, great grandfather, it had been handed down generation after generation, and many enemies had lost their lives on its blade.  The village elders had presented to him the day his people declared him king, his father’s sword instead of his crown.  Someday he would give it to his eldest son.

Even though the blade had ultimately been unable to save his father, it had brought him luck with every battle.  Only last night he'd been fighting...

 _Wait.  Last night?  Last night I was fighting for my life_.  It had been a bloody battle, many of his men had died, but he was certain that his side had been victorious.  He'd certainly sent many adversaries to the next world with grim satisfaction. 

 _Perhaps my sword is still on the battlefield_. But that didn’t sound right.

That just brought him back to his first problem.  He didn't know how to get to the battlefield from wherever he was.  Not that he was terribly good at using the stars for navigation at the best of times, but that skill was completely beyond him at the moment.  The heavens had changed since he'd looked at them last. 

 _Perhaps Loki has been up to mischief_.  Eric didn’t really put much faith in the stories he’d been told as a child, but seeing the sky with too many stars, some incredibly bright, others so faint he could barely make them out, he felt a little inclined to believe in them.

A wolf howled and Eric looked around, searching for the direction the cry had come from.  A battlefield would attract scavengers.  He loathed and feared wolves, but his warrior's pride demanded the return of his beloved sword. 

“Rest well, young man,” he said quietly, giving the boy a final glance.  Hopefully the spirit of the boy now lived in Helgafjell and didn’t wander the realm of Hel. 

He began walking in the direction of the howling wolves, his skin crawling.  In his mind’s eye he could see the wolf he’d killed turning into a man with a strange mark on his neck. 

Seventeen years after that night, and he was still no closer to avenging his father.  Truthfully, he didn’t think it would happen, not now.  As king of his people there were too many responsibilities to go hunting the wolf master and his demon dogs.  Plus there were his three children to consider; he could not leave them.   

His plan proved harder than expected.  The wolves had sounded close by, but he’d yet to come across them.  His thirst was getting stronger, it was so bad that it was beginning to hurt, but there was no stream nearby, and so he forced himself onwards.

As he walked, he tried to remember what had happened to land him in a hole in the ground. 

 _We found the enemy by night_ , he remembered slowly, _and attacked then because we thought we had the advantage_. _They were strong fighters, but there were more of us.  We were winning_.

The more he thought about it, the more he remembered.  _It was dark, but we could see._   _I remember throwing a spear at an enemy who was hiding near the trees.  He was a long way off, but I still hit him.  Pinned him to a tree._   He smiled at that memory – he couldn’t wait to brag about the excellent shot when he got home.

_I saw wolves and thought of Father.  Hjalmar was going to be hit from behind, so I lunged forward to strike the man down first.  Hjalmar thanked me and we swung our swords again.  There was a burning pain in my side.  Hjalmar killed a man that had snuck up behind me.  Then the pain wasn’t so bad.  I could still fight._

His hand went to his side again, probing for the wound.  It wasn’t there.  Eric stopped and looked down at his side.  His shirt was cleanly sliced through and it was covered in dried blood and dirt, but underneath, there was just smooth skin.  No blemish at all.  He pulled his shirt up to double check.  While looking at the spot where the fatal wound ought to be, Eric saw that even his hands and wrists were healthy looking. 

 _I was in a battle_ , he thought, fear beginning to rise in him.  _I should be covered in bruises and scrapes.  Everything should hurt.  But it doesn’t_. 

Aside from his insistent thirst, he'd never felt better.  He let his shirt fall.  _What has happened?_  

The wolves howled again and he set off after them, walking faster as his anxiety increased. 

 _Kn_ _ótr saw the blood first and asked if I was alright_.  _I told him I was fine, it was just a scratch_.  _I didn’t think he believed me, but I kept fighting_.  _Then I began to feel weak_.  He paused, the memory coming back full force.    _Kn_ _ótr and Bjarni had to carry me I was so badly wounded_.  _I told them to leave me_.  _And they wouldn’t_.  _We knew I was done for so they built me a pyre_.  _I was on it when_...

The hairs on the back of his neck pricked. 

He continued to walk at the same pace, careful not to show that he was aware of this mystery person shadowing him.  If he'd had his sword, he would have spun around fearlessly.  As it was, his hand flexed instinctively, holding tight to the missing hilt.  He tried listening intently, but all the sounds in the forest were still too distracting.  He couldn’t hear the wolves anymore, but he could hear the faint trickle of a stream.

He changed course.  The thirst was growing unbearable, he actually felt a little weak now.  He couldn’t pick out the footsteps behind him, if there even had been.  _Perhaps I imagined it_.

The scent of wood smoke hit him and he paused, wondering if he should follow that.  The men might be friendly, perhaps even his own men; he’d be right glad to see them now.  Or it could be surviving enemies.

He felt the presence behind him again.  Eric spun around this time and his mouth dropped open in astonishment.

 “You’re awake,” the dead boy said. 

The boy’s grey eyes frightened him.  They burned with coldness and seemed too old for his youthful face.  He tried to think of something intelligent to say, but all he could come up with was:

“Aren’t you dead?”

The boy smiled, making him seem young.  “I am.”

“Yet you’re walking and talking,” Eric said slowly.  _Maybe Kn_ _ótr and Bjarni fed me mushrooms by mistake_.   “Or am I dreaming?”

“I am walking and talking,” the boy confirmed.  He began to circle Eric, weaving between the trees, keeping the distance between them.  He didn’t stop smiling.  “And you are not dreaming.”

The boy continued to prowl around him and Eric tensed, ready to fight.  For some reason, this boy reminded him of the sinister wolf-master.  He eyed the boy, wondering if he’d be able to take him down if he attacked.  Eric had the size advantage and he was a skilled fighter, but the boy was strongly built as well.  There was maybe twenty feet between them, if necessary, Eric figured he could outrun the boy.  

“Forgive me, I did not realise you were alive.  I wouldn’t have left you,” he said cautiously, drawing himself to his full height.  Being taller than most, his height usually was enough to intimidate potential opponents.

The eerie boy completed his circle.  He leaned against a tree and continued studying Eric, his arms folded over his chest.  Eric studied the boy right back. 

Now fully out of the ground, Eric saw that there was a huge tattoo on the boy’s back.  There was also a red mark, a brand of some kind.  Unsurprisingly, the boy’s breeches were filthy – not that his own clothes were much cleaner at the moment – and to his amusement, the boy was wearing a pair of shoes that appeared to be made out of fur.  He had a look on his face that Eric found familiar, yet couldn’t place. 

Eventually he responded. 

“Have we not already decided that I’m dead?”

 _I was on my funeral pyre_.  _I woke up in a grave_.  _I have strange new senses_.    Eric trembled, shaking his head.  Dirt fell out of his hair onto his cheek.

“You’re obviously not,” he said nervously, trying to wipe it off.

“But I am.” 

Suddenly, the boy was mere inches away, holding Eric's hand.  Eric went to jerk away – the boy’s hand was cold as ice – but despite the delicate grip, he couldn't pull away.  Much to his confusion, the boy pressed Eric’s hand against his cold chest, just below the strange tattoo that covered his collarbone.

It took a few seconds before Eric realised the boy had no heartbeat.  Eric looked from his hand to the boy’s face in horrified shock.  The boy wasn’t smiling now, in fact, he looked very serious.

“You recognised me last night when I came to you,” he said, his cold, dark eyes boring into Eric’s frightened blue ones. 

“What are you?” Eric tried to draw away again, but the boy held him tight. He threw all his weight into pulling away, but their size difference meant nothing.  The boy smiled again as he struggled, but Eric couldn’t even drag him an inch.  He might as well have tried moving a mountain a little more to the left with his bare hands.

The smell of the blood on the boy’s skin was driving Eric wild with want and he went still, staring at the boy’s blood covered chin. 

“What are you?” he whispered again. 

The boy turned Eric’s hand around, holding Eric’s hand in place over his heart. 

It wasn’t beating.

“I am the same as you,” the boy said simply, removing his hand.  “And now, you are the same as me.” 

Then Eric remembered. 

 

_Are you death?_

_I am._

_You're just a little boy._

_I'm not._

_My men..._

_Dead._

_You swine._

_I watched you in the battle field last night.  I never saw anyone fight like you._

_I would fight you now if I could._

_I know.  It's beautiful._

_What are you waiting for?  Kill me._

_Could you be a companion of Death?  Could you walk with me through the world...Through the dark?  I'll teach you all I know.  I'll be your father, your brother, your child._

_What’s in it for me?_

_What you love most: Life._

_Life._

 

Eric felt for his pulse, desperate to feel that tiny throb in his wrist, but there was nothing there.  He tried his neck, but there was just stillness there too. 

“What have you done to me?”  Eric slumped to the ground and the boy knelt down in front of him, a stone pendant around his neck swinging slowly back and forth.  Up close, Eric could see that the boy’s hair was so filthy with dirt and blood that it matted into stringy clumps.   That look that Eric couldn’t figure out was back on his face. 

“I have given you a life beneath the moon and stars,” the boy said, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind Eric’s ear.  Please with the effect, he did it to the other side as well and leaned back to admire his efforts.

“What does that mean?”

Eric heard a faint snicking noise and gasped.  The boy had fangs. 

He heard another snicking noise again, louder this time, and suddenly realised that there was something sharp pressing into his lower lip, threatening to break the skin.  The boy saw. 

His soft fingertips trailed first over Eric’s top lip, then caressed his lower lip.  A thumb ran down the length of Eric’s teeth, now long and sharp like his. 

“You are thirsty.”  The boy’s grey eyes practically glowed with excitement.

With those three words, Eric understood.  He didn’t want to, but he did.  He covered his mouth, horrified, and in his clumsy horror, the fangs cut into his palm.  He looked down and gaped as the small cuts healed over before his eyes.   

A draug, that’s what he was.  A ghost that killed men.  Draugar had dark powers and lived in tombs during the day and tormented people at night.  They were known to be fiercely protective of their graves, he recalled.  _Did Kn_ _ótr and Bjarni build my pyre too close to this creature’s tomb and anger him_?   

He looked at the boy, willing him to vanish and for all of this to be some terrible dream.  The boy – _no, the demon_ \- didn’t move.  Dizziness threatened to overwhelm him, and he felt himself swaying a little.  A small, strong hand steadied him.

“You must drink,” the boy said.  Eric forced himself to open his eyes and focused on the boy’s young face.

“There’s a stream nearby,” Eric said shakily.

The boy laughed.  He easily pulled Eric to his feet, shaking his head in amusement.

“Come with me,” he said, still chuckling, tugging on his hand.

Eric was startled by such a human sound, he’d expected some unearthly shrieking instead of laughter.  He was terrified, of the boy and himself, but if the boy could act and sound like a human, then perhaps he could as well.  With any luck, all was not lost.

Eric allowed himself to be led along, not knowing what else to do.  The boy moved nimbly through the forest, not making a sound, and Eric felt like an oaf as his own feet seemed to break every twig on the ground.  This didn’t seem to trouble the boy, he was still smiling.

He paid little attention to their direction, but when the scent of smoke filled his nostrils again, closer this time, he stopped. 

_Thump-thump.  Thump-thump.  Thump-thump._

His head snapped up, looking around.  The noise was faint, but he was certain he knew what it was.  Heartbeats.  He could only pray he was wrong.  “What is that?”

“Hush.”  The boy raised a finger to his lips and then pointed.  “You can never be seen by them.” 

Not entirely sure he understood that last part, Eric obediently fell silent and saw three men huddled around a small fire just ahead.  He was glad he didn’t recognise them.  He knew their fate. 

Worse, he already knew the part he would play in it.

“Watch me,” the boy commanded and Eric was struck by soft his voice was.  He sounded young, but at the same time, there was a seniority in his voice.  Stern, yet gentle. 

Then there was nothing gentle. 

Eric hadn’t even realised the boy had moved until he heard the sound of bones cracking as the boy broke the first man’s neck.  The second was knocked out cold.  The third man was frowning in confusion, hadn’t even seen the snarling fangs yet, and the boy lunged, tackling him to the ground.  Eric flinched as he heard skin rip as the boy savagely bit into the doomed man’s throat. 

Over the boy’s shoulder, wide, terrified eyes seemed to look straight at Eric.  The man was able to let out a weak gasp before he passed out. 

Eric stood there, stupefied as he listened to the boy greedily drinking the man’s blood, loud gulps that rang in his ears.  He could still hear the man’s heart beating, but then it got slowly weaker.

Then it stopped.

The boy arched backwards, drawing his fangs out of the man’s neck and let go, blood dribbling down his face and chest.  Eric winced as the body thudded to the ground, disturbed by the indifference after the sudden violence.  The boy pushed himself up onto all fours slowly, his eyes partly closed as he savoured the taste.  Eric expected the boy’s chest to be heaving in exhilaration, but he was deathly still. 

“Come here.”

Reluctantly moving closer, Eric looked down at the unconscious man.  He could have been any one of his own comrades; big and burly with hands calloused from working in the fields or from wielding a sword.  _Perhaps he was teaching his son how to use a sword, just like I was before I left_ , Eric thought bitterly.  _What was the foolish bastard doing out in the middle of the forest, anyway_?

“Do you understand what you must do?”

Eric nodded mutely, still staring.  Suddenly on his feet, the boy reverently rang his fingertips over Eric’s fangs.  Steady grey met frightened blue again.

“There is only survival or death, my Child.  Last night you chose survival.”  His hand fell away, leaving a single drop of blood on Eric's lower lip.  “Which do you choose tonight?”

For some inane reason, Eric remembered the first time he’d gone into battle.  He’d been thirteen and scared out of his wits.  A huge bear of a man had charged at him, his sword raised high to deliver a killing blow, and he’d realised that if he didn’t kill this man first, he would die.  His sword moved upwards and then the man was lifeless at his feet. 

Tentatively, he touched his fangs, and then slowly bent down beside the unconscious man. The neck seemed too intimate, so he cautiously picked up a wrist.  The man’s heartbeat seemed impossibly loud to his sensitive ears.

Eric sensed the boy smiling behind him and then the order he’d been dreading came. 

“Drink.”

It was like liquid fire, a warm, pulsing river, and it was the most amazing thing he had ever tasted.  All else vanished, the forest, the fire, even the strange boy.  The hot blood throbbed through him, down this mouth, his throat and he could feel the heat fill his chest, his arms, moving lower and lower, filling him completely.  He could feel his skin tingling with energy.  It was strength, power – _life_ \- and he could not get enough of it.   

He felt a hand on his shoulder, gently pulling him away.  Silence. 

“You did well,” the boy whispered into his ear.  “How do you feel?”  

“I feel...strong,” Eric said slowly. The dizziness was gone.   He could feel the strength stolen from this man’s blood coursing through him.  “I feel alive.”

“Yes.  Even in death, you are alive.”

Eric looked at him and suddenly recognised the look on the boy’s pale face.  He’d seen it in the faces of many men and he knew that he’d had the same expression on his face before.  It was the awed wonder on the face of a new parent as they gazed at their newborn child. 

As if realising that Eric had recognised something within him, the boy averted his eyes.  “You have many other powers besides strength, my Child.”

The thirst abated and Eric felt his fangs retract.  He ran his tongue over his now normal teeth, marvelling at the strange magic. 

“We need to bury the bodies,” he said, standing up to survey the mess.  He felt a little more like himself again, and he automatically took charge of the situation.  If these men had friends close by, they would discover them soon and go hunting for their murderers.  He kicked dirt over the fire to put it out.  No sense in having such an obvious beacon.

The boy glanced around at the three dead men and Eric saw the scorn in the ancient grey eyes.  The boy waved dismissively.  “The wolves will be happy to take them.”

 _The wolves?_  Eric was filled with disgust at the thought of these men suffering such disrespect.  The way they had died had been violent enough and to have the wretched creatures consume them seemed unnecessarily harsh.   The disdain in the boy’s voice made him wary and so he moved on to a safer topic.   

“What’s your name?” he asked.

The boy blinked.  “I do not have one.”

“Nonsense.  Everyone has a name.”

The boy said nothing.  He just stood there, scratching at a patch of dirt that covered one of his arm tattoos.

“Well, I have to call you something.”  Eric looked at him expectantly.  But the boy just looked back at him blankly, as if not understanding what Eric meant. 

“Am I expected to call you Master then?”

“ **Never** call me Master,” the boy said and the vehemence in his voice caught Eric by surprise.  He looked at the boy in confusion.  Perhaps offering his own name would prod the boy into revealing his name. 

“I’m Eric.”  He held out his hand in greeting, but the boy stepped away from him, eyeing his proffered hand suspiciously.  Eric wondered if he’d upset the strange boy somehow by asking his name, it might explain this sudden change in his demeanour. As the silence stretched between them, Eric lowered his hand, exasperated.  He was in no mood for childish games.

“You _have_ to have a name.”

The boy frowned, his eyes darkening.  He clearly did not like being spoken to so sharply.  “A name is just a word,” he snapped back.  “It means nothing more than the sound of the wind.”

“Suit yourself.”  Eric turned around, looking for useful landmarks.  This little camp was by a rough path.  He spotted a felled tree and smiled in delight.  This was the path that Knótr and Bjarni had carried him down. 

If he followed it, he would find his sword.  “Well, whoever you are, you’re welcome to come with me.” 

“Where are you going?” The boy sounded genuinely stunned.

Eric glanced over his shoulder.  “To find my sword.”

“Why?”  Now he sounded mystified.

Eric sighed impatiently.  “Because I want it back,” he said.  “And if it’s been stolen, the fool who took it will sorely regret it.”

He’d already had his father’s crown stolen from him and he had no intention of losing the only other family heirloom he had.

“You do not need it.”  A soft sighing noise and the boy was beside him, looking up at him curiously.

“I can fight well with my hands,” Eric smiled wryly down at him, “but a sword tends to make things easier.”

“You use a spear well enough,” the boy said softly, turning his eyes forward.

 _Well, he did say that he’d been watching me fight, he must have saw me throwing the spear_. He smiled, still proud of that perfectly aimed shot.   

“It belongs to my family,” he explained as he made his way down the pathway.  “Seeing as you were spying on me, you must have seen how many men died by it.  Most men take their sword with them to the afterlife, but my family has always passed this sword down.  It brings luck to each generation.” 

Talking while travelling always made time pass by faster.  And if he was carelessly talking, then he wouldn’t have to think on how he’d just callously killed a man with his teeth and drank his blood.

Yet the boy said nothing in return, and began lagging a few steps behind. 

“How long did you spend watching me last night?” he asked curiously, glancing over his shoulder.  The boy just shrugged and didn’t say anything.  He didn’t really seem to be listening at all.

Eric tried to engage him a few more times, and then gave up.  He tried to shrug the silence off, though he was a little disappointed that Death – _I’ll have to think of a name for him_ \- had nothing to say for himself.   _Some companion_. 

The wolves howled again and Eric tensed at the noise.  Another howl, much closer now, and he stopped.  He could smell blood and decay.  Just ahead of them, he could see the pyre that he had been meant to die upon.  The boy stopped as well, following his gaze.

Knótr and Bjarni’s bodies lay on the ground.  He went past the corpses, trying not to see their slashed throats as he searched for his sword.  He failed, and bent down to shut Bjarni’s eyes.  These bodies he would put on the pyre meant for him.

The sword had fallen to the base of the pyre, forgotten or ignored, when the boy had taken him away.  He smiled in relief, picking it up.  Having it back in his hand was comforting.  It was where it belonged.

Eric looked over at the boy.  He was running his tongue over his fangs, bored.  Holding out the sword, Eric waited for the boy to admire it.  Instead, he glanced at Eric’s face and heaved his shoulders.  He made the effort of glancing at it for all of two seconds.

Offended by the lack of interest, Eric returned the sword to its rightful place at his hip.

“I swore to my father that I would avenge him and I intend to do just that.”  He could hear wolves again.  “With my sword,” he added pointedly.  With these new powers, whatever they were, he could hunt down the wolf-master! 

“Your father does not matter,” the boy said calmly.  “Not anymore.” 

“The fate of my family might not matter to you, but it matters to me,” he said, trying to make himself sound stern.  His elation was becoming expectant dread.  “I have to return to my village.  My children are waiting for me.”

“You will not see them again.” The boy looked at him with cold, dark eyes, then stepped away, his face falling into the shadows. 

“What do you mean, I won’t see them again?”


	4. Chapter Four

In front of Fangtasia, a paint covered Ginger was busy cleaning up plastic sheets, rolling them into neat balls before putting them in the trash.  Eric rolled his eyes.  Evidently, Pam was too cheap to just hire some humans to repaint the place. 

She smiled brightly when she saw him.  "Evening, Mr. Northman!" 

"Hello, Ginger," he said, flashing her a charming smile and saw the fresh bite marks on her neck.  As irritating as Ginger was and despite Pam's derision, working in sleazy clubs since she was fourteen had left Ginger knowing more about running a nightclub that anyone else currently working for him.  Some of her ideas surprised him with how well they worked. 

"Doesn't the paint look great?" she said admiringly.  She had a spot of black paint on her nose.  "You wouldn't know that some nasty people had tried to rough it up."

He held the door open for her as she carried the rest of the gear inside.  As she went past him, he put his arm on her shoulder, stopping her.  When she looked at him, her eyes were full of fear, but when he wiped the spot of paint off her nose, she smiled again, albeit nervously. 

"It looks very nice," he said sincerely, noting that her heartbeat slowed a little as her fright eased.  He was hungry. 

The brilliant red interior looked nice too, though a little at odds with a corner that was decorated with bright rainbow print balloons and streamers.  A banner declared "Congratulations!"  A hen's night, perhaps?  Someone had ever so kindly hung a few of the balloons around the chair on the platform were he usually sat, multicoloured ribbons entwined the pole beside it. 

She beamed at him, thrilled with his politeness and the attention.  "It's a good thing you're in tonight.  It's _Ladies_ Night."  She giggled furiously, snuck what she no doubt thought was a furtive look at him, and then giggled even harder.

"Well, as long as they have money," Eric said.  Eric didn't bother to think on Ginger's silliness, he simply headed to his office, pausing to grab a True Blood.  Not nearly as delicious as the real thing, but it would take the edge off his hunger.  He couldn't concentrate properly on an empty stomach.

Eric looked at the large pile of paperwork that had accumulated in his in-tray.  An assortment of envelopes to open, things to sign, bills to pay, more junk mail... all such boring, human things.  Someone, probably Chow, had left a series of Disney Princess Post-It notes on his desk, reminding him to call suppliers, potential employees and his advertising team.  One note written on a Princess Jasmine Post-It caught his attention – a request to guest lecture at a local university about Viking culture.

Staring at the paperwork, he considered which problem to tackle first.  Human or vampire?  Pay the bills or think about Godric?

He chose human.

Eric absorbed himself with club matters, determined to keep his mind off Godric.  He flicked through papers, signing where needed, writing out cheques.  His computer froze in the middle of saving a spreadsheet.

 _How is it that last night I bested a vampire three times my age and tonight I can't even master Windows XP_ , he wondered, thoroughly baffled as he watched the mocking hourglass rotate.   Verbal threats against his PC didn't work and he knew better than to hit his computer - he'd lost more than a few in the early days of Windows 95 due to smacking them.  Sullenly, he redid the spreadsheet. 

He considered the request of the university and decided he would do it.  He'd invite the class to Fangtasia afterwards.  Pam would love that, especially since he would make her help clean up after a night of boisterous college kids. He grinned at the thought.  Of course, it didn’t hurt that college girls tended to be... experimental.

Unfortunately, the distraction ended too soon.  All he could see was Godric, gazing towards the rising sun.  His throat felt tight. 

The door to his office swung open with a bang and Pam stood in the doorway, frowning at him.  "You were meant to be up on the stage half an hour ago," she said sternly, swinging a whip in her hands.  Seeing his expression and the tiredness in his face, she became wary.

"What now?"  When he didn't answer, she grew impatient, slamming the door shut behind her.  "Eric?"

When she was in a good mood, Pam dressed in a dominatrix style outfit for work.  Right now, she was wearing a pair of boots that and travelled practically all the way up her legs and had had heels that had to be at least four inches tall.  The rest of her outfit looked much like a leather bikini covered in studs.  If her clothes tonight were any indication of how she was feeling, she was practically over the moon with delight. 

He hated to ruin her chipper mood. 

"It's ridiculous," he said slowly, remembering how hurt she'd been that he'd never told her about his murdered human family. Looking at her uneasy face, he suddenly realised that Pam was his only 'family' now. 

"If it's regarding Sookie Stackhouse, then yes, it is ridiculous."

When he didn't even acknowledge her snippiness, Pam grew more attentive.  "What is it?"

"I've seen Godric." 

Pam drew back, startled.  "Where?" she demanded.  Her blue eyes, heavily lined in kohl, flickered around the room as if expecting to see him standing in the corner.

"In the parking lot when I was out in the sun.  When I buried Russell."  He looked up at her.  "In my bedroom."

"Well, vampires can't come back as ghosts."  Pam sat down across from him, frowning.  "Did he – it -say anything?"

"Last night, he said 'I'm sorry'."  He didn't want to tell her about the rest, not yet.  It was too ridiculous. 

"Sorry?  For what?" 

"I honestly don't know."

Pam had met Godric a few nights after Eric had turned her and in her youth, had made the mistake of thinking of him as a young boy.  Godric had not liked that and had let her know it.  She'd learned how fast her body could heal that night too.

She didn't care much for Godric. 

After thinking about it for a few minutes, she eyed him suspiciously.  "You aren't feeling guilty about anything, are you?"

"No.  Why?"

He watched as she focused intently, trying to sense his emotions to see if he was telling the truth.  That bond between them had always been a little weak – the complete opposite of himself and Godric – but Eric liked it better that way and so did Pam.  But going by the look on her face, she was getting nothing off him now.

"Well, maybe he's a representation of your conscience."  She smirked.  "You _would_ make the almighty Godric your moral compass."

He gave her a sharp look, but she was unapologetic.  She'd probably been watching reruns of _Dr Phil_. 

When she started studying her nails, he had to hide a smile.  If she was inspecting her nails, she was either pretending to be ignorant, or thinking hard. 

"So it can't be a ghost," she said, mostly to herself.  She glanced at him.  "Maybe you're just going crazy."

He snorted.  "After this week, I wouldn't be surprised."

"Could it be a side effect of the fairy blood?" she wondered, and it caught him by surprise. 

 _Well, don't I feel stupid_.  He hadn't even thought of that. 

"I don't know," he said thoughtfully.  "Maybe."

"So our options are a ghost, mental illness, a come down, or you've decided that Godric now represents your conscience." 

"Any other great ideas?" he said sarcastically, still irked by the last one. 

"I think it's the fairy blood," she said decisively.

A ghost, mental illness, a come down, or a conscience.  The first impossible, the second... well, possible, but very unlikely, the third was plausible, and the fourth, well, he already had one.  _I'm merely selective in what it's applied to_. 

He went back to the third idea.  It made sense.  He hadn't seen visions of Godric until he'd ingested the fairy blood.  The more he thought about it, the more sensible it seemed. 

He relaxed, glad he'd asked for her opinion.  Pam might be blunt to the point of aggravation, but she was almost always practical.

"I think you're right," he said and then grinned.  "Although, maybe I feel bad for tricking Sookie..."

She rolled her eyes and poked him in the chest with her whip.  "You're not half as funny as you think you are."

"You know I am," he smirked, and stood up, feeling more reassured about the whole matter.

She continued to give him a withering look as he stripped off his clothes and pulled on the black leather vest and pants he wore on Ladies Night.  Hopefully there would be some buxom beauty in the crowd that would capture his interest and he'd be able to slake both his thirsts at the same time.  _A redhead tonight perhaps..._

Now eager to get into the club to find a redhead to fuck and feed on, he looked at Pam impatiently.  She was reapplying her dark purple lipstick, using the small mirror on the back of the door.  Satisfied with her gothic appearance, she clicked the cap on. 

She licked her lips, studying her reflection closely.  "You'll tell me if it happens again, right?"

"Of course." 

"Good."  She checked him over.  "Lose the vest."

He raised an eyebrow at the order, but complied.  Just the leather pants. 

Pam smiled broadly and withdrew something from between her breasts and held it out to him.  "I have something for you." 

His phone.

"I broke into Bill's house and found it.  Last call on it is to Ruben," she said distastefully, then added sulkily, "You should have killed him."

Proof that Bill had rung Ruben then.  But it raised some interesting questions.  How would Bill know that Ruben was Eric's assassin?  Everyone knew that most Sheriffs and Royals kept assassins; Eric had always been careful not to let anyone know that Ruben did work 'on the side' for him.  No one but Pam and Sophie-Anne knew. 

The Queen must have told Bill at some point.  He scowled.  Her stealth was admirable, bugging his office, probably using both Bill and Ruben to spy on him.  Extremely clever, but it also revealed the depths of her paranoia and her fear of him. 

One thing still puzzled him.  Ruben should have known better than to think that Eric would want Pam dead.  He'd been awfully quick to try completing the task.

 _Chow can investigate Ruben's house_ , he decided, _but it will have to wait until Ruben is missed_.Even Chow would be irritated that Ruben hadn't come in for his shifts at Fangtasia.

He had time to think about it while out flaunting his good looks in the club.  He followed Pam out of the office.  He couldn't help admiring her ability to walk in ridiculously tall heels.  _Still, if she buys those Chanel boots, I'm making her a dancer_. 

He stopped dead as humans began squealing in excitement at the sight of him.  Lots of men actually, standing in the corner decorated with the rainbow balloons.  Right by his chair.

"Oh, by the way, you were the winner of the Hottest Gay Vampire in Louisiana competition," Pam said with a great deal of satisfaction.  She was so pleased with herself that her fangs were showing.  The racy outfit explained.

"Really.  Whose idea was that?"  A man was holding a dildo shaped trophy up to him, smiling bashfully.  It had his name on it.  _Eric Northman.  Hottest Gay Vampire in Louisiana._

"I'm going to blame Ginger."  She pushed him towards the throng of excited me.  "Now hurry up.  Your public needs you."     

Fangs on display, he smiled as politely as he could as he accepted the tawdry trophy.  _It's going to take more than college kids to pay her back for this_ , he thought, struggling to keep his smile on as two men pressed up against him to have their photo taken with him.  He was glad to have his cell back.  At least now he could play Tetris while having dozens of men fawn all over him.


	5. Chapter Five

“You’re **not** doing it and that’s final.”

Eric looked to Chow for help, but the off-sider knew better than to get involved and busied himself by looking through the newspaper.  Rigid with fury, Eric turned back to Pam.

“Seeing as I have to watch her-”

“-Or him.”  She smirked.

“Or him,” Eric said through gritted teeth, “for most of the night, I think I should have **some** say in the matter.”

“Tough,” Pam said, unsympathetic.  She crossed her arms, glaring at him defiantly.  “The last dancer **you** hired chained me up and robbed us.  Not to mention your ridiculous obsession with Sookie.  Your taste in women sucks, Eric.  Face it.”

“Chow and I will hire the new dancer and that’s all there is to it,” she declared haughtily.  “Now get lost.”

Eric sullenly returned to his office, making sure the door slammed behind him.  He looked around the room, wondering what he could do while Pam ogled the potential dancers. 

 _Have to keep busy_.  He began reorganising the boxes of alcohol, toilet paper and T-shirts on the far wall.

 

...

 

 **Early autumn.  938 AD.  Sweden**.

 

Eric twisted another bit of dry grass into place and paused to admire the result.  _Needs a few more strands to thicken it, but it’s coming along nicely_ , he decided.  He’d been working on the grass bracelet for the past half hour.  The boy – who still refused a name – was sitting beside him, though his attention was elsewhere.  For the past hour and a half, he’d been watching a spider build its web like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.  It had amused Eric to watch something so simple, but when it became obvious the boy had no intention of moving until the insect was finished, he’d become bored.

It was sorely tempting to wander off, but he knew if he moved, the boy would be instantly at his side.  Not once since that first night had the boy let him out of sight.  Eric wasn’t sure why, he knew the boy would be able to find him easily, and though being minded like a child irritated him, he was forced to accepted it. 

Plus it seemed mean to make the boy give up watching the spider just because he was restless.

The boy leaned forward, still intent on the spider and again Eric caught a glimpse of oldness in his eyes.  It was eerie, how someone who looked so young could exude an aura of something so old.

There was something bestial about him too.  When hunting, he was utterly focused as he stalked, and efficiently brutal when killing.  Watching him attack frightened Eric.

Yet when he wasn’t hunting or killing, he was still and calm. 

Eric wasn’t sure if he’d call it a companionable silence though.  The boy didn’t speak much.  In fact, he’d barely spoken a word to Eric other than a gentle correction when he became awkward about drinking from someone.

Being so used to the banter of his friends, Eric found the silence wearisome.  At first, Eric had tried being friendly, talking about his family, his village, the battles he’d been in, but his attempts at conversation were constantly rebuffed by apathetic stares.  The boy had absolutely no interest in anything connected humans.   

The grass bracelet completed, he tossed it aside and began picking at his nails, trying to get out the dirt that seemed permanently wedged under them.  Sleeping naked in the dirt was horrible.  Upon waking, he tried brushing off as much of it as he could, but there were always stubborn patches.  He desperately wanted to bathe.  Curiously, lice and fleas no longer bothered with him.  Perhaps the wretched creatures were too afraid of the undead to harass them.  Whatever the reason, it was a welcome change.     

As practically every movement the boy made was with stunning speed, Eric hadn’t even realised he’d gotten up until he saw him standing right by the web, holding out his hand invitingly to the spider.  Eric frowned as the spider edged closer, one spindly leg at a time.

“Be careful,” he warned, his voice sounding very loud in the quiet forest.  “It’ll bite you.”  

The boy’s mouth curved into a smile, transforming his impassive expression into one filled with warm, simple joy.  “No,” he said, peering at the spider closely as it delicately crept onto his hand.  “They cannot hurt us.  A poisonous bite cannot even make us sick.”

Eric wrinkled his nose.  “Well, I’d rather not risk it.”

The boy smiled devilishly and put his hand right beside Eric's face.  A rush of fear went through him and Eric jerked back in alarm, horrified by the hairy little legs and beady eyes that were so much clearer to him with his new eyesight.

“How can someone so big and strong be so afraid of something as small as this?” the boy teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Scowling, Eric tried to maintain his dignity.  “It has too many legs,” he said stiffly.  “Why would any creature need eight legs?”  The boy held it close to his face again and Eric swatted him away.  “Keep it away from me, you imp.”    

When the boy’s smile faded, Eric felt bad for spoiling his fun.  It had just been a simple jest, he’d meant no harm by it.  Actually, this was the first childish thing the boy had done.  Eric relaxed a littler, pleased with this discovery.  A little normality restored.       

The boy cupped the spider in the palm of his hand, whispering something to it in a language Eric didn’t recognise.  He stood on tip toe to put the spider back gently and to Eric's relief, it scurried along to the other side of its web.  Poisonous to him or not, he did not like spiders.

Quiet now, the boy sat down in front of Eric and picked up the discarded grass bracelet, investigating it curiously.  “My daughter showed me how to make them” Eric said, watching the boy closely for a reaction at the mention of his children.  “Then she had me spend the rest of the afternoon making them with her.  One for every person in the village.”

“I just told you that it cannot harm our kind,” the boy said slowly, setting the bracelet down, and completely ignoring Eric's anecdote, “and yet you doubt my words.  Why?”

Eric’s shoulders slumped, disappointed that once again the boy had showed no interest in his family.  He was hoping that if he spoke enough about them, the boy would change his mind, and he would be allowed to return home to his village.      

He glanced back at the boy and realised he was waiting for an answer.  His mind still on his children, he sighed and without thinking said, “Why should I trust what you say?”

The boy looked at the ground as he contemplated Eric's question, a confused expression on his face.  _I guess when he admired my fighting skills, he didn’t think I’d fight **him**_.  Eric rolled his eyes.  _If he expects me to blindly obey him, he’s in for some serious disappointment_.

While the boy wasn’t looking, he shot a quick, nervous glance at the two dead men lying several feet away.  One was missing part of his throat and his eyes wide open in terror, the other with a large bite in his wrist, but at least his eyes were closed.  Each night, the boy shared his unconscious victim with Eric, or if there was more than one person, he would render one unconscious before inviting Eric to drink.  For that Eric was grateful.  He disliked attacking an unarmed man, though such thoughts obviously didn’t occur to the boy.

Still, it was an effective reminder of the boy’s strength and wildness, and Eric decided to be more selective in the battles he picked with the boy. 

“Do you want to know what will hurt you?”

Cautiously, Eric nodded.  “Of course.”

“But will you trust me?”  The blood covering his youthful face was beginning to congeal and coupled with the fangs that were always extended, it made him look like a demon. 

“You’ll have to earn my trust,” Eric said mildly.  “Just like everyone else.”

The boy frowned, pulling his legs up and wrapping his arms around them, hiding his nose behind his knees.  The light autumn breeze ruffled his messy hair, and beneath his furrowed brow, grey eyes watched Eric intently.

Eric wished there was a fire between them.  It felt more natural to be talking to someone over a crackling campfire instead of just sitting there in the dark with only the wind.  But the boy’s disinterest in anything related to humans even extended to having a fire.  Eric's fingers ran over the familiar metal of his sword and he found comfort in that instead.

“I have never had to earn someone’s trust before,” the boy said suddenly, his words muffled from behind his arms. 

“Well,” Eric pointed out reasonably, “do you immediately trust people?”

The boy continued to stare at him over his arms.  Finally, he said, “I have never had a reason to.” 

 _He didn’t sound proud of it_ , Eric noted, _or pleased, or upset_.  _Just a fact_.  Eric felt as though something had just been confirmed for him. 

He’d strongly suspected the boy had been alone for a very long time. He had no idea how old the boy was, but he had the distinct impression that the boy had never had a friend before.  _He wants to be something though_ , Eric reasoned.  _Father_.  _Brother_.  _Child_.  

A conundrum.  While the boy had said he would teach everything he knew, he was doing so in dribs and drabs.  _So he must want me to stay_.  He looked up at the spider web, deep in thought.  _But I don’t want **his** feral life, I want... I want my old life_.  He sighed.  _But how can I make him see that?_

Eric took the boy’s left hand.  Instantly, the boy tensed, his fingers curving to resemble claws, and he tried to draw back.  Eric stubbornly held on, trying to pull the boy’s left hand towards him.  He picked up the grass bracelet. 

With great care, he slid the bracelet over the boy’s wrist.  The boy slowly settled back down, his eyes never leaving the impromptu gift, and Eric let go.

“Then I suppose we’ll just have to learn to trust each other,” Eric said simply. 

The words struck a chord in the boy and he glanced up.  “I promise I will never lie to you.”

Eric smiled.

 

. . .

 

The wind was picking up, and Eric tilted his head back to let it blow through his damp hair.  He smiled, enjoying the sensation.  There was a huge lake spread out before him and he was sitting on a rocky outcrop, drying off.  He’d spent the past half hour washing the dirt off his skin.  His clothes were stained and dirty, but he could tolerate that. 

He heard footsteps behind him, but didn’t turn around.  “What mischief are you up to?”

“No mischief,” the boy said, sitting down beside him.  “I came to see if you were ready to hunt.  I think there is a village nearby.”

Eric glanced at him and held in a sigh.  The boy didn’t shake off the dirt like Eric did when they awoke at sunset, so he was covered in grime and blood.  In few weeks he’d been with him, the boy had not bathed once.  “If you walk into a village looking like that, no one will talk to you.  In fact, they’ll all run from you and you’ll go hungry.”

The boy was unconcerned.  “I will catch whichever one I want easily.  Besides, I have no intentions of talking to any of them.”

Now Eric hesitated.  They hadn’t found anyone to feed from last night and he’d woken up with his body dully aching, but he was still reluctant to kill. 

He decided to change the subject.  He nodded up at the moon, bright and shining.  “Do you miss the sun?”

While he would answer some questions Eric had about their strange life, the boy would never respond to any personal questions.  The boy followed his gaze, a thoughtful expression on his face.  “No,” he said eventually.  “I can barely remember it.  It was a long time ago.”

“How long?”

The boy smiled, glancing sideways at Eric for his reaction.  “Over a thousand years ago.”

Eric was stunned into silence.  _No wonder the boy’s eyes didn’t match his young face_ , he thought, believing the boy’s words.   He thought back to the spider, the cheekiness in the boy’s eyes. 

When Eric said nothing, the boy stood up, gazing out over the lake.  “Come, my Child.  You’re hungry.”

Slowly, Eric stood up.  He looked down at the water, gently lapping the rocks beneath him.  With his sensitive eyesight, even in the moonlight, he could tell the water was darker, deeper.  _So old and silly tricks still amuse him_. 

“Very well,” Eric said.  “Let’s go.”

With that, Eric pushed the boy into the water.  

The boy came back up, sputtering, his dark hair slicked to his forehead.  He was blinking furiously, shocked as if he couldn’t believe that he’d just been had. 

He looked up and Eric laughed at the indignant expression on his Maker’s face.  He leaned over the edge of the rocks.  “At least you’re clean now.” 

The boy’s eyes narrowed and before Eric could move, a white hand grabbed him by the foot and yanked him into the water.

The shock of cold water made Eric gasp and his mouth filled with water.  He opened his eyes and could clearly see the boy a few feet away, his head under the water, watching Eric with a pleased, sly grin on his face. 

He kicked his way upwards and then it was his turn to spit out water.  The boy followed suit, but he’d had the common sense to shut his mouth before ducking under again.  Eric laughed again, flicking his wet hair out of his face.  This silliness felt more natural.

The boy swam out a few feet, just out of reach, apparently wary that Eric might try to dunk him again.

Eric decided to test his new strength.  He waited until the boy turned around to face him and then he skimmed his arm across the surface of the water, splashing the boy in the face. 

He sputtered again.  “And you call me an imp?” the boy laughed.  Now he was definitely less frightening.  Just a boy, playing happily.

“Let’s go find this village.”  Eric swam over to the rocks and hauled himself out.

Eric waited until the boy was standing on the rocks before pushing him back into the water.

 

. . .

 

The boy was watching the small group of travellers intently, looking from face to face as he decided which one he would kill.  There was a woman and three men, probably a family moving to a more prosperous village. 

Eric leaned against a tree, resigned to the fact that these people would meet a grisly end at the fangs of the creature beside him.  The boy always went for the throat, but Eric would still only drink from the wrist. While the boy was still knocking them out, a surprising thoughtfulness, Eric knew it was only a matter of time before he would be told to attack on his own. 

He’d seen it in the boy’s eyes last night when he’d looked up after closing the dead man’s eyes of the boy’s victim.  The boy didn’t approve of the small mercies. 

He’d coolly commented that there was no point to it, the humans were dead and only the worms and wolves cared about them.  Infuriated, Eric had snapped back he should be respectful to the dead.  The boy had just stared at him expressionlessly as if not understanding, and said nothing more on the subject after that.  It made Eric uneasy again. 

“Can you smell the difference between them?”

Eric had been surprised to learn that humans tasted different.  He’d expected them to taste the same; while the ambrosial rapture of the hot blood was always present, but there was something else.  Some were sweet, some tangy, others were almost spicy.  They were all delicious.

Eric sniffed the air, concentrating. 

“Yes,” he said after a moment.  “The woman and the man with blonde hair smell the same.  They would taste similar.  Perhaps they’re siblings.”

There was another scent too, but he wasn’t sure if it belonged to one of the people.  His sensitive nose made it tricky to identify once familiar smells. 

His answer earned him an approving smile.  The boy darted forward and the ferocity was chilling. 

He knocked out one of the men, used his favourite method of breaking necks to kill the other two, and latched onto the neck of the woman.  When the boy was animal-wild like this, Eric couldn’t help but approach cautiously, always nervous that _he_ might get attacked for startling the boy.  Not that the boy had ever hurt him.  

He bent down beside the man intended for him.  The boy stopped, blood rolling down his face, and looked up, waiting for Eric to bite.  Eric glanced at him and was surprised to see that the woman was still breathing.  Despite the blood, the bite was shallow.

Though confused by the boy’s actions, Eric stared down at the man’s wrist, listening to the steady rhythm of the man’s heart, hypnotised by the enchanting sound.  _This is the one that smelled different_.  His fangs lightly grazed the skin. 

And then the man woke up.  Eric reeled back, shocked and frightened, as the man screamed in terror. 

In all this time, not once had he heard someone scream.  The boy killed them so quickly, knocked them unconscious so efficiently, that the people they drank from never even realised what was happening.  A low moan, perhaps, but never a gut wrenching scream of unadulterated terror.  As Eric sat there, frozen, and the man had staggered to his feet and ran away.

Still stunned, he’d looked to his Maker for help.  The boy watched the man until he’d disappeared from view through the trees. 

“We can never, **never** , been seen by them.  We must always hide and never let our true selves be revealed.  They will hunt us and kill us.”  He didn’t look troubled, or even angry about the escaped human.  “Do you understand?”

He always said that when he made a point.  Eric got to his feet and rushed after the man, finding him within seconds.  He wasn’t as stealthy as his Maker; the man heard him approach and spun around, panting in fright. 

“I don’t want to die,” he begged.  Tears trickled down his cheeks as he trembled in fear.

 _And I don’t want to kill you_ , Eric replied silently, hesitating.  The sound of his heartbeat was so loud and fast.  Eric's fangs slid out.  The man screamed again.

“Demon!”

The word stabbed Eric to the core and he flinched.  The two of them stared at each other, both afraid for different reasons.  Finally, the man turned again and tried to run away.  Eric heard the frantic beating of the man’s heat and the terrible hunger overwhelmed him and he grabbed the man’s wrist and bit.

He promptly spat out the mouthful of blood.  It tasted vile.  While he stared at the man, thoroughly confused, the man stumbled to his feet, clutching his bleeding wrist, and ran off again.

With a light thud, the boy was in front of the man, having appeared out of nowhere.  The man stopped just shy of running into him, shocked and confused at the abrupt appearance of a blood covered boy. 

“I don’t want to die,” the man pleaded again.  “Please, show mercy!” 

“Everything ends,” the boy snarled and snapped his neck.  The man fell, his mouth still open in a silent scream.

Eric spat again, trying to rid himself of the disgusting taste.  “What was wrong with him?” he demanded, still sputtering and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.  He fully expected to be berated for letting the man escape.  Worse, he felt tricked.  He was certain the boy hadn’t rendered him fully unconscious on purpose.

“Its blood was diseased,” the boy explained, stepping over the corpse.  “The disease does not affect us, but it can be tasted.  Avoid them.  They are a waste of our time.”

 _I didn’t realise the undead could have their time wasted_ , Eric thought sourly.  “Well, how am I to avoid them if I can’t tell that they’re sick?”

“We can smell it.” 

“I didn’t.”  Eric frowned indignantly as the boy came to a halt in front of him.  “Wait, you’re saying you could smell it?”

“Yes.”

“You might have told me!”  It felt like the horrid taste would never leave his mouth.  He spat again.

“You had to learn it for yourself, my Child” the boy said, Eric's irritation rolling right off him.  “Before you attacked it, what did you smell?”

“It was like... like...” Eric struggled for the right words.  “It was sickly sweet.  I thought it was just his... flavour.”  He cringed, despising himself for speaking of these poor people so callously.  “Are the sick always like that?”

“Usually.” 

The boy waited for Eric to stop coughing and gagging.  He began walking back, Eric grudgingly following, still pissed off.  Eric saw the woman was still alive. 

“You can take that one.”  The boy sat down and fiddled with the grass bracelet he still wore.  He glanced up when Eric hesitated, checking the woman over carefully.  He laughed.  “Perhaps you won’t be so quick to push me in the water next time.”

Eric gave him a withering look.

 

...

 

 

Pam came out of the club, daintily blotting blood off her mouth with a tissue, a very smug look on her face.

“Well?” he said, none too politely.   

“Oh, I think you’ll be very pleased with Cupcake’s dancing,” she said sweetly.  “She starts tomorrow night.”

“Cupcake?” he repeated in disbelief.


	6. Chapter Six

“Queen Sophie-Anne returned to her New Orleans manor today,” said Tatenda Yaw, Sheriff of Area Two in Louisiana.  His deep voice boomed through the phone.  “So far she’s been given the title of Queen of Louisiana and Mississippi, but there seems to be a bit of an issue with the Russell’s estate.  Might be a big probate case.”

Switching the phone to the other ear, Eric continued doodling on the back of a receipt.  Sounded like Tatenda was loyal to Sophie-Anne.  Unhappily, he realised that he’d have to prove his loyalty to her somehow.  _God, what would appease that red-headed bitch?_   

“How well do you think the AVL is handling the Russell Edgington fiasco?” he replied.  A reasonable question to deflect any potential enquiries regarding his allegiance to the Queen. 

“Well, they haven’t found him yet.  It seems like we’ll just have to wait and see.”  Tatenda sighed.  “There must be something in the air.  All the old vampires seem to be going crazy.  This insanity with Russell and before that there was the drama in Dallas with Godr-”

“Have to go, Tatenda,” Eric said quickly, his voice abruptly strained.  “Sorry.”

He hung up the phone before Tatenda could even say goodbye.  He gripped the desk, staring hard at the circles he’d just drawn until they blurred together, not noticing the splintering wood beneath his fingers.

 

...

 

**Late autumn.  938 AD.  Sweden.**

 

His gaze trailed from the sky.  Beside the rough forest road, five men dressed in plain brown robes sat around a large fire, talking cheerily among themselves, laughing, and occasionally breaking into song.  He’d gotten used to the boy’s soft, reserved voice and now their voices seemed so _loud_ in the darkness.    

Eric had no idea what language they were speaking in.  There was one man whose accent was more familiar to him; Eric supposed the man was their guide and translator.  Funny, he’d never realised just how many people travelled through the forest roads during the year.  His seaside village seldom saw strangers, only errant sailors needing to repair their ships, and occasionally a pedlar or merchant in the summer months.  But for the past couple of months, they’d been able to find people every few nights.  _But surely that will stop in winter_ , he puzzled.

The wind was icy, stinging his skin.  Eric felt so cold he expected that ice crystals would form on his clothes if he stood in place much longer.  The nearby fire was so inviting, glowing softly, illuminating the jovial men.

The boy had been prowling around the small group and now came back to stand beside Eric, his grey eyes intent on their intended victims.  The boy, somehow unaffected by the cold in only his ragged pants and... 

Eric glanced down.  “Where are your boots?”

The boy looked down at his feet, blinking in surprise, as if he hadn’t realised they were missing until just now.  “Oh,” he said, looking vaguely over his shoulder in the direction they’d come from.  “I must have forgotten them.”

When he looked back at the men, Eric rolled his eyes, mentally adding clothes to the list of human things the boy had no interest in.  He’d be walking around the woods stark naked at this rate.  _I could make an insolent comment about covering our trail though_...

“Pay attention,” the boy said and stepped out from behind the trees and walked right up to the men.

“Wes hæl,” he said pleasantly.  The men looked up, surprised by their sudden visitor. 

One man opened his mouth to say something, but the boy met his eye and spoke again, his voice very low, and even Eric couldn’t hear what he said.

Smiling warmly, apparently unfazed by the appearance of a blood covered, half naked boy out in the middle of the forest in the freezing cold, the man indicated that the boy could join them.  The other men looked at each other, puzzled, but after the boy glanced at each of them in turn, they happily accepted this stranger. 

The boy sat down and Eric gaped in slack-jawed disbelief.

Eric didn’t know how, but the boy had bewitched them.  The spell was strong – not a single one of these men was concerned about the boy’s ghastly appearance, nor questioned him about where he’d come from.  For a few minutes the boy listened attentively, and then joined the men in their conversation, only occasionally stumbling over a word. 

His Maker looked over the fire to where Eric still stood and when he jerked his head slightly, Eric carefully crept closer, just close enough to feel the warmth of the fire, but stayed hidden behind a bush. 

Eric listened, knowing he was being shown something important.  It had never occurred to him that spells were another aspect of their powers.  Other than the obligatory prayers for a good hunt or protection when going into battle, he’d never thought much about magic. 

 _Considering his open dislike of humans, he’s able to maintain an amiable conversation_ , Eric thought, practically sick with jealousy.  He might not have been able to speak their language, but being around people was something he missed.

The men offered the boy wine and food which he declined with a polite shake of his head.  His Maker had explained that human food would not nourish them, only blood could, and Eric had tested that once and had sorely regretted it.  One of the men, drunk on wine, clapped the boy on the back, holding out the flask insistently. 

The boy turned sharply, looked the man straight in the eye and whispered something in the strange language.  Eric saw the man’s pupils dilate in response and his breathing became a bit shallower.  The man didn’t offer him anymore wine.  In fact, he sat there looking decidedly addlebrained. 

 _Eyes_ , Eric decided after a moment.  _Whatever magic he’s using, it’s in the eyes_.

The boy said something to the man Eric presumed to be the translator and the man began to explain some of the conversation in Eric's own language.

Eric listened with mild interest.  These men were self declared holy men and considered it their duty to tell ‘heathens’ about the _Weruda God._ Interesting stories, but he preferred the stories of the warrior gods he’d grown up with.  Thinking of those stories caused him to think of his children, a mistake.  He sat back, blinking back tears. 

The stories didn’t seem to impress the boy.  At first the men had been delighted that the boy – _had he given them a name?_ \- had heard of the _Weruda God_ , but he must have made some disinterested comment because the men grew indignant.  They argued about it, whatever it was, for the better part of the hour, falling back into the other language and Eric couldn’t follow anymore.

 _Maybe these are his people and that’s why he’s talking to them._   Not for the first time, Eric felt a pang of pity. _I wonder how long he’s been out here on his own, with no-one to talk to._ _Perhaps he’s been lonely._  

The more bored Eric got with the conversation, the more aware he became of the rushing hot blood inside the men.  Suddenly starving, he inched closer, his fingers digging into the damp ground. 

 _If I move quickly_ , he found himself thinking, _I can grab one and they won’t even see me_.  His fangs snicked down.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the boy glance warningly in his direction.  Eric vaguely wondered if he should stop...

 _... But I’m **thirsty**_...

... And then it was too late.  Not as well hidden as he’d thought, one of the men looked up and cried out in alarm, pointing in horror. 

The boy seized him first, digging his fangs in so deeply that when he yanked them out, snarling like an animal, flesh was ripped out with them.  The boy had drunk so quickly and completely that the man was dead before his body even hit the ground.  Eric was so stunned that he forgot all about his own burning hunger.

His Maker whirled on another man who was already several yards away, springing high into the air to land on the man’s back, dragging him to the ground with his teeth latched into the man’s neck.  Eric heard bones breaking as well as teeth ripping.  The boy looked up when he was done, and raced with his inhumane speed in the direction of desperate scrambling and skidding feet. 

There was an interrupted scream that rang loudly in Eric's ears, but another man had caught his attention. 

The man was rushing in Eric's direction in blind panic.  Without even realising it, Eric stuck a leg out and the man tripped over it. He landed with a grunt and quickly rolled over on his back.  He saw Eric and reached out hopefully. 

“Help me,” the man gasped and Eric recoiled.  This was the translator, begging him in his own language. 

Then Eric saw himself reflected in the man’s eyes.  Filthy, ragged clothes, dried blood clinging to him, long fangs.  Despite knowing that must have been what he looked like, it was a shock to see it in another’s face. The hand jerked back.

“You’re a monster too,” the man whispered, wide-eyed in terror.  “You’re one of them.”

Even now, after all the people he’d drunk from and killed, he still tried to...  

“You are!  You’re a monster!” The man shrieked it over and over, the words hitting him like arrows.  “Fiend!  Devil!  Monster!”

Eric might not have fully understood at the time what the boy was truly offering, but he understood that he’d chosen this.  Even though he was no longer human, even though he was only awake at night, even though he drank blood and killed people, he imagined he was alive as others were alive.  But the life in him was from the night and it was not human.  _I can’t pretend anymore._

 _If I’m to survive, the dream has to end_.

Eric steeled himself, and then lunged, cutting off the words by sliding his fangs into the man’s throat.

He was vaguely aware of the screams around him fading, of the boy’s cruel snarls in the distance, the cold wind.  No, the wind didn’t matter.  He was growing warmer with each mouthful, the ecstasy he tasted was better than anything else in the world.  He didn’t care that a man was dying to give it to him, the man didn’t matter.  _How could anything else matter?_

As the man died, Eric sat back, gasping, dazed by what he’d just tasted.  He so badly wanted more.

**_Eric!_ **

He looked over his shoulder, confused and surprised to hear the boy’s panicked voice in his head, and discovered the last man was standing behind him. He was holding Eric's sword high, ready to bring down a killing blow. 

The boy slammed into the other man and Eric, a veteran of several bloody battles, had to turn his face away.

“Did he hurt you?” the boy asked, crouching down in front of him, looking Eric over as if checking for wounds.  His concern contrasted oddly with his demonic appearance.  Red rivulets of blood ran down his face from his drenched hair, his skin glistened darkly in the firelight, and his pants were soaked through. 

Feeling blood dribbling down his chin, Eric wiped his own mouth off with his hand.  Before he could clean it off on his clothes, the boy grabbed it and licked the blood off his hand greedily.  Eric raised an eyebrow, amused, but the boy was still too caught up in his bloodlust to notice him.  When Eric's hand was clean the boy sat down opposite him.  He looked thoroughly contented.

Eric looked around again and saw the body of the man that had seen him first. 

He cringed in consternation.  “I was seen.  I’m sorry.” 

“An infant always stumbles before it can walk.”  The boy caught Eric's eye and gave him a gentle, forgiving smile.  “You will know better next time.”

“We’re close to a road here,” Eric said briskly, not wanting to think about next time, but looking forward to it all the same.  “We need to hide the bodies.” 

The boy agreed and so they worked quickly and quietly, burying them deeper in the forest.  Eric expected the boy would insist they move on, and so he was surprised when his Maker returned to the still lit fire and sat down.  _Perhaps he’s cold too_ , Eric thought, thoroughly grateful as he sat down.  They were quiet for awhile, both just gazing into the fire, lost in their own thoughts. 

“I heard you,” Eric said, breaking the silence.  He tapped the side of his head.  “In my mind.  I heard you call my name.”

“The bond between a Maker and their Child is strong at first.  I can feel what you feel.  I can call you and you will hear me.”  The boy continued to look into the fire.  “The bond will weaken, unless you drink my blood frequently.  But it will never break.” 

Eric couldn’t think of a single thing to say to that other than, “Oh.”

He picked up a stick and poked the fire, smiling when it crackled satisfactorily.  “What did you do to them?” he asked, thinking of the strange empty faces of the men after the boy had caught their eye.

“I bent their will to mine.” 

“Oh.”

The boy grinned at him, his fangs showing, amused by the simple responses.  “Did you see how?”

“You used your eyes,” Eric said after a moment.  The more he thought about it, the more certain he was.  “And your voice, I think.” 

Smiling, the boy nodded.  He looked very pleased with Eric's correct answer.  “Yes.”  Then he looked a little sheepish.  “I pressed too hard on one of them.”

“The one that slapped you on the back?  Yes, I saw.”  Eric smirked for a minute and then curiosity got the better of him.  “How come you speak their language?”

The boy looked away, gazing out into the dark forest.  “I spoke it long ago in another land,” he said and began playing with the grass bracelet, turning it around and around his slender wrist.

 _I’ll have to make him a new one soon_ , Eric thought, hearing the dried grass creak.  _He plays with it so much, it’s going to break_.

“Is that why you spoke to them?” Eric pressed.  “Because it’s your language?”

“I spoke to them to show you how to hypnotise humans,” the boy said, sounding a little impatient.  His shoulders stiffened and Eric looked back at the fire, figuring the boy was about to lapse into silence was he was wont to do when Eric asked something about his life. 

"No-one speaks my language anymore."   

Eric poked the fire again and sparks blew upwards and were taken away by the howling wind.  It seemed every time the boy let something personal slip, it just made Eric feel sorrier for him.  Eric hunched over, trying to keep warm, but the boy just sat there, still staring off into the dark forest.  _Is he really as indifferent to_ _his own long, dark life as he seems_ , Eric mused.  He snuck a glance at the impassive boy.  _I wonder how it feels to be so old than no-one can understand you if you spoke in your native tongue_. 

“Perhaps you can teach it to me,” Eric suggested, suddenly just as concerned about his Maker as the boy had been about him before.  “Then we can both talk in your tongue.”

The boy turned back to face him, smiling.  “I prefer to speak in your language with you.”

“Well, I guess that makes it our language,” Eric said decisively.  He squeezed the boy’s hand.

This time, he looked back at the fire, but didn’t let go of Eric's hand.

“As you wish, my Child,” he said softly.

It wasn’t until the fire had nearly died down that Eric summoned the courage to ask his next question.  He let go of the boy’s hand and even though he didn’t need to, he drew a breath. 

“Why... when they’re awake... why do they taste...?”  Eric faltered for words.  “Something is stronger.  I... I don’t know,” he said, frustrated by his inability to explain the sensation.  “Do you understand what I mean?”

The boy’s mouth twitched.  “Despite your excellent grasp of language, I do understand what you are trying to say.”  He turned around to face Eric properly.

“When a human’s heart beats faster, their desire to live is stronger.  To feed off that desire makes it more seductive for us.”  He studied Eric's reaction.  “Does that make sense to you, my Child?”

“I think so,” Eric said after considering it for a few minutes.  He looked at the boy curiously.  “You didn’t let them live long enough to even feel fear before.  Why deny yourself if it is so much better?”

To him, that sounded like not bothering to chase after the pretty girl when the boring, unattractive sister was easier to bed.  Just as fun, true, but it was the triumph of getting the haughty beauty that made it all the sweeter.

The boy leaned closer and answered Eric's question with one of his own.  “Now that you’ve tasted such desire, do you want it again?”

“Yes,” Eric whispered, ashamed despite of his earlier resolve.  To taste that ecstasy again, to take life after life, was to watch little more of his humanity slip through his fingers like sand.  He wanted to lie, say he didn’t, but...

“I do.  It isn’t right, but I do.” 

The boy shook his head.  “There is no right or wrong.  Only survival or death.  Accept it, my Child.”

 

...

 

Eric was debating what to do about the splintered wood of his desk when Chow pushed the door open and threw someone on the floor.  Eric raised an eyebrow.

“Look who I just caught in the men’s restroom feeding on one of the customers,” Chow said, sounding quite pissed off. 

“Again,” Pam added pointedly, slipping past him into the office.  She smiled icily.  “That’s three times now.  Good thing we didn’t get raided.”

Tarynn looked up guiltily and Eric bared his fangs in annoyance.


	7. Chapter Seven

Eric held out a hand under the showerhead to test the hotness of the water. 

In Fangtasia last night, he’d been getting a drink from the bar, and suddenly remembered that Godric's hands were always cold and the skin a little rough, but still incredibly soft when touching his skin. 

Earlier in the night while a pretty blonde girl nibbled on his earlobe, he’d remembered that Godric despised fighting with weapons.  He thought only a weak vampire needed anything more than fangs and hands to kill a foe. 

After deciding the water was hot enough, he remembered that Godric’s eyes were always drawn hungrily to anything with print on it, a classic novel, a shopping list, or even graffiti. 

 _I just want to forget_.  Water splashed over his face and he squeezed his eyes tightly. 

 

...

 

 **Late autumn.**   **938 AD.  Sweden.**

 

“Tell me about your children,” the boy said suddenly. 

 “What?”  Eric frowned suspiciously at this sudden interest and looked down at the boy.  He was picking at his fingernails, ripping at the white until it split.  “Why do you want to know?”

“They’re important to you.” As quickly as he ripped a nail off, it regrew.  “I know you miss them.”

He sighed, turning to look up at Eric's face.  “I thought... I thought if you told me about them, it might lessen your pain.”

Eric eyed him, not sure if he should respond to such an unexpected request.  When they’d awoken to a viciously strong wind whipping heavy rain and sleet around them, Eric had huddled down beside a huge tree and flat out refused to move.  The boy had sat down beside him without a word.

 _Perhaps he’s bored and just wants to pass the time_.  That thought made Eric raised his chin defiantly.  _If he wants to know something, then I should be able to know something about him too_. 

“Didn’t you miss anyone when you... at first?” 

“No.”  The boy drew his legs up, wrapping his arms around them and shook his head, his messy hair swishing against his forehead.  He started scratching his filthy wrist.  “There was no-one.”

“And since then?” Eric asked, his voice a little quieter.  The boy scratched his own arm so hard that he ripped the skin.  He blinked in surprise and watched the tiny lesion heal, frowning. 

“No-one.”

Eric honestly thought he was lying.  The boy _had_ to be lying.  How could anyone go a thousand years and not have a single friend?  No-one to play with as a child, no-one to share village gossip with, no-one to go hunting with, no-one to tell silly stories to, no-one to curl up against to keep warm.  He opened his mouth, to call the boy out on it or laugh at the ridiculousness of the statement, he wasn’t sure which, but no words escaped.  The boy’s promise that he would not to lie kept echoing in his mind.

The silence must have stretched out too long because the boy glanced up at him.  Eric hurriedly looked away.

“Well, my eldest son’s name is Hákon.  He’s eleven years old....”  Hákon, who was trying very hard to use his sword as well as Eric did.  He had light brown hair and hazel eyes like his mother had, but Eric thought he would be as tall as he was when he grew up.  He loved looking after the animals and when he’d been little, he would sneak off and sit beside the chickens, happily talking to them as though they were people.  He had a dog called Jarli who followed him everywhere.  He refused to eat mushrooms.

The boy rearranged himself and nodded to show he was listening.  The boy was right; talking about them did brighten his mood.  Eric continued. 

“My daughter Signý loves to sit on my shoulders because she thinks she can touch the sky...”  A temperamental five year old, she infuriated him with her tantrums one minute, and then made his heart melt with her sweetness and kind nature the next.  She begged him to tell her stories each night.  She loved making things and cows scared her.  She loved to comb his hair because it was blonde like hers. 

The boy glanced down at the grass bracelet around his wrist and touched it lightly.  He still seemed to be listening.

“I think my baby son Danur he will look like his brother when he grows...”  He had to stop, suddenly too choked up to continue.  He would never see what Danur looked like when he grew up.  Danur would always be the baby who had just discovered how to sit up and blow spit bubbles in Eric's mind.

When his parents and sister had been killed, he’d mourned bitterly, but the thought of revenge had eased the grief some.  He’d never thought he could feel grief like this though. 

Every part of him ached with the desire to see them, to hold them, to kiss their sweet little faces again.  Though he’d lost wives, he was one of the few lucky ones that had never lost a child, a boon he was grateful for every single day, and to lose them threefold like this was near unbearable.  He had no idea how anyone who had lost a child could stand the heartache.  It was made all the worse by knowing they were alive. 

At the same time he realised that his cheeks were wet, he saw the boy was looking at him.  He touched his face and saw the blood on his fingertips.  Before he could say a word, the boy caught his wrists and held them, then gently licked the bloody tears off his fingers. 

“I am sorry you hurt,” his Maker said quietly.  To Eric's great surprise, the boy began to slowly lick the tears off his face.  His forehead rested against Eric's.  “It is no life for you if you spend every waking moment weeping for them.”

“How can you possibly understand,” Eric whispered, “if you have never lost anyone you love?”

“You are strong-hearted,” the boy said.  Eric had never seen him look so serious.  “It is what makes you so beautiful to me.” 

The boy ran a finger down his cheek and his hand dropped away.  He turned, pulling his legs up and pressed his face against his knees, as if hiding.  He didn’t move.

When it became obvious the boy was not going to say anything more, Eric stared off into space, lost among thoughts of his old life.  Hunting with friends, the numerous women he’d slept with, the merry nights full of laughter and drinking with the villagers in the Great Hall.  All lost to him now.

The stormed passed and fine, misty rain trailed after it.  The boy stood up. 

“Stay here,” he said, sounding oddly grim, and Eric was too surprised at being left alone to say anything.  His Maker disappeared into the night.  Eric wanted to follow, but common sense told him to stay where he was. 

 

.

 

A soft, sleepy whimper caught his attention. 

His Maker was approaching, holding a girl, maybe five years old, close to his bare chest.  The child’s eyes were closed, her tiny fingers twined in the necklace that hung around the boy’s neck.  As if they were siblings, an older boy kindly carrying the tired child.

Eric stared first at the child – _she looks like Signý_ \- then at the boy. 

"No."

The boy looked down at the infant in his arms, and Eric wondered if he was struggling to see a sleeping child, not just something to quench his thirst.  He looked at Eric again and Eric stepped backwards. 

"There is nothing wrong with it," he said flatly, holding the child out again.  Eric looked at him, disgusted.  He'd yet to hear his Maker refer to a person as anything but 'it'.  Never, 'he' or 'she', always 'it'.  The boy held out the girl expectantly and his eyes narrowed when Eric backed away again.

"It's a child," Eric snapped, angry and exasperated by the boy's lack of understanding.  "I won't kill a child.  I **won't**."

 "You did not care about killing the other night," the boy retorted.  "Everything ends, they all end eventually.  What difference does it make?"

Eric picked up his sword. 

"I told you before that I would fight you if I could.  I **will** fight you on this.  Do **not** kill the child." 

The boy unceremoniously dropped the girl on the ground.  The little girl gave another soft sigh, but she was sound asleep.  The boy must have hypnotised her before stealing her away.  She huddled to the ground, trying to get warmer.  Had the boy not been right there, Eric would have wrapped her in his cloak.  She would freeze in this miserable weather. 

His Maker stepped over her and Eric saw a faint blur of motion, and then the boy was right in front of him, looking up into Eric's face.  Eric backed up again.  Their height difference meant nothing.  With his lips pulled back in a snarl, his long fangs bared and his grey eyes dark, the boy was frightening.     

"I could command you to," he said, his voice low, dangerous.  "And there is nothing you can do about it."

"Then you will have to command me because I won't hurt her." 

Eric stormed off, knowing that he was leaving the child to a grim fate at the boy’s hands and he hated himself for abandoning her.  He hoped that the boy wouldn’t kill her, and then he would be able to double back and help her.  He had no idea where she had come from, or if there was even anyone left alive to come looking for her.  Anything could kill her out here.

But **he** would **not** do it.   He could feel the boy’s cold, angry eyes watching him go.  He did not understand the sudden change... this **betrayal**. 

 _Yes, that’s what it is.  Betrayal._   _He was quietly listening to my heartaches and now ... this?  He wants me to kill a child?_

He’d walked maybe a hundred yards when the boy called after him, his voice soft and colder than ice.

“As your Maker, I command you to come back to me immediately.”

The words gripped him and Eric was unable to move his legs to take another step forward.  Every part of him screamed to turn around.  As he struggled against his unyielding body, fiery pain spread through him.  His eyes widened in shock as every muscle in his body seemed to twist.  It _hurt_ not being near the boy. 

After nearly ten minutes of the agonising pain, he turned around, and each step closer to the boy brought more relief.

When he was just a few feet away, Eric placed his blade against the boy’s neck, pressing hard enough to draw blood.  The boy didn’t flinch. 

“You will never, never be able to best me,” the boy said steadily, blood trickling down his neck.  “I am older than you.  I will **always** be stronger than you.”

Then there was another blur and he was beside the child again.  Eric stepped forward to swing his sword, but he was too late.  The boy bent down and bit the girl's neck.  He took a few mouthfuls and stepped away, his own neck already healed.  He focused on Eric, blood dripping from his mouth.

All Eric could smell was the little girl’s blood and it seemed to creep into every part of him.  It was making him dizzy, the world was spinning crazily and the steady heartbeat in the girl's chest was so loud to his ears.  And then...

...  Then he realised that he couldn't hear the little heartbeat anymore. 

He cried out in horror, sickened to his very core by what he'd done.  He dropped the lifeless girl and shrank back, wanting to look away, but spellbound by this – _my_ – evil.  A child.  _I’ve killed a child_.

 _And I enjoyed drinking her blood_.

He could feel the heat of the child’s blood spreading through him.  The boy touched his shoulder.  “Do you understand now?” 

"Why did you do this?" he whispered, staring down at the small, pale face, framed by blonde curls.  All he wanted was to hold his children in his arms again; protect them against everything that might harm them. 

 _Now I’m one of those things.  I could kill them as easily as I killed this girl_.   

"You will kill over and over and over." The boy stroked his head tenderly, smoothing his hair down.   "It is a part of your life now." 

"You've already told me that.”  Eric closed his eyes, wishing he could reverse time so that none of this had ever happened.  Wished he’d died on that pyre and never met this creature.  “I _know_ that."

"There is something I have not told you.”  The hand stopped.  “But I think you already know it."

Eric waited.

"You will enjoy it."

With a furious cry, Eric grabbed his sword and shoved it into the boy’s stomach, impaling him into a tree.  His Maker’s face twisted in pain.  Eric sneered.  _So he can suffer.  Good._

"You're lying," he snarled.  Eric pushed the sword in deeper, perversely pleased when the boy finally cried out. 

“I promised you that I would not lie,” he gasped raggedly, coughing up blood.  “I _promised_!” 

Blood poured from the wound, brilliant red against the whiteness of the boy’s skin.  It did not escape Eric's notice that the boy wasn’t putting much effort into fighting back.  He could easily have thrown him off by now, broken the sword in two.  He was _letting_ Eric hurt him like this.

“Do you truly think I enjoy killing innocent children?  Innocent people?”  Eric demanded, baffled.  He jerked the sword again and the boy gasped.  “Just because I killed on a battlefield does **not** mean I enjoy killing.”

He leaned forward.  “But you do, don’t you?  You like killing.”  The boy glanced away and Eric snorted.  “You know, I thought there was something human in you,” he said bitterly, loosening his hold on the sword.  “But now, I just think you’re empty.” 

Despite the excruciating pain, the boy stopped twisting, stunned into stillness. 

Eric yanked the sword out, leaving a long ragged wound, and tossed it aside lest he be tempted to cut the boy’s head off.  The boy collapsed, gripping his belly and looked at the little body.  Eric followed his gaze.  That's all it was now, a body.  No spirit left.  This little girl would never run, or laugh, or sing, or curl up in the warm embrace of her parents ever again.  There was.... nothing.  Just a ransacked shell.

“Your beloved children, your Hákon, your Signý, your Danur, will die just like she did,” the boy said, blood still trickling from the corner of his mouth, “because you cannot control your hunger.” 

Eric nodded miserably.

When he was fully healed, his Maker stood up slowly and looked him straight in the eye.  “We do not have to kill when we feed.”

After a beat, Eric simply walked away.  If he stayed a second more, he would just mindlessly attack the boy until his Maker killed him.  _All those innocent people needlessly dead_.  He smiled bitterly to himself.  _I never even asked him if we had to kill, I just stupidly assumed we did_. 

He drew back in shock when the boy abruptly dropped down in front of him, blocking his way.  It was as if he’d fallen out of the sky.   

“Now you know how just how dangerous you can be if you do not master yourself,” he said, grey eyes searching Eric's face for some sign of understanding. 

“And you think this cruelty was the best way to show me?” Eric said incredulously, pointing at the little girl. 

“Which would cause you the most grief, my Child?” the boy countered, stepping closer.  “Losing your self control, killing someone, perhaps someone you love, and suffering over each death? Or your Maker bringing you a bleeding child, knowing you will not be able to resist, who shows you just how strong you must be to survive, and who now reminds you that her death was truly at **my** hands?”

“You don’t even care that she’s dead!” Eric sputtered.  He shoved the boy to the ground and stood over him, furious. “ **My** fangs killed her.  **I** have to live with it.”

“Then know that the dead are at peace and there is no reason to think about them,” the boy snapped back.  He jumped to his feet, but moved to stand near the little girl and gazed down at her.   Eric glared at the elaborate tattoo on his back.  _The boy has mementos of his human life carved into his skin, yet even those visible reminders can’t make him act human_ , Eric thought angrily. 

“I can destroy everything I touch if I wish it, but I do not want to destroy you.”  The boy turned around.  “You must listen to me.”

“You just lost control of your body and killed a child.  You lost control of your temper and attacked me.  If you dominate your emotions and body, the humans will live when you feed from them.” 

He lowered his gaze, lightly touching the grass bracelet.  “You will be like me,” the boy said.  “Not by choice, but by necessity.  That you cannot stop unless you want to be forever haunted by the dead.”

Eric glared at him, unwilling to be swayed so easily.  “Death wanted a companion.  Not a twin.” 

“The world has enough dark monsters in it.”  The boy’s voice was strangely distant.  He looked down at the stone pendant around his neck and began fiddling with it.  “My Maker taught me to be one of them and I have survived this long because of it.” 

Twisting the pendant around and around, deep in thought, his fangs cut his lower lip and Eric watched drops of blood well up.  Instantly, his mouth watered and he wanted to taste it.  He shifted, preparing to dash forward – and realised the boy was right.  He lacked self-discipline.   

He did not want to kill.  It was that simple.  To be able to do that, he would have to learn to control his new bloodthirsty desires.  He would have to accept the loss of his family.  He would have to let go of his old life.  He would have to acknowledge that this new life would be in the night.  The boy licked his lips and the blood was gone.  If he wanted to live, to truly experience this great gift of life his Maker had given him, he would have to learn at the boy’s side.   

Abruptly, the boy yanked the pendant off and threw it away.  He stared after it for a few seconds, his body tense and a bewildered look on his face as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just done.  Then the look was gone and he turned back to Eric. 

“I will teach you differently,” he said determinedly, squaring his shoulders with this new resolve.  Again he touched the grass bracelet and Eric could only guess what it meant to him.  His Maker lowered his eyes, a strange, almost ashamed, expression coming over his face and his voice grew so quiet that Eric could barely hear him.  “Then you won’t be as... empty as I am.”

Eric frowned, wondering just how much those words had hurt the boy.  He hadn’t said them to hurt, just stating things as he saw them.  He did as much again.  “You’re full of contradictions,” he said, moving closer, and the boy frowned, puzzled.  “You act like a child, playing games and pranks.  You can sit with people, talking happily as if is completely natural to you.  You are as ruthless as an animal when you hunt.  And you are cold-hearted and happy when you kill.  I just don’t understand how you can enjoy something so terrible.”

The boy turned away.  “I hold someone’s life in my hands,” he said, awkward in his confession.  “They are at my mercy.  I choose their fate and there is not a single thing they can do about it.” 

On some strange level, Eric understood.  He’d known men who enjoyed power of some sort, even he had as king of the village.  But people could abuse power too.  He knew men that beat their wives to prove their supposed strength over them. 

It made Eric wonder about the boy’s ancient history if he sought happiness in killing others.

“Power over your body, over others.  And power over me.”  Eric struggled to keep a scowl off his face.  Having his own body fight against him because his Maker willed it was horrifying.    “Is there anything you can’t control?”

The boy turned back to him.   

“Of course.  But I control myself and my destiny.  That is all that matters to me.”

 

 _I’ll be your father, your brother, and child._  

 

“I think you are empty,” Eric said and the boy’s jaw tensed.  “But I also think you don’t want to be anymore and you’re trying not to be.”

“You promised not to lie to me,” Eric continued, putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder, looking into his eyes.  “Did you truly mean it?”

“I meant it,” his Maker whispered, holding his gaze for a few seconds before his eyes flickered to Eric's hand.  He looked apprehensive as he always did when Eric touched him, so Eric let go, respectful of the boy’s uneasiness.

“I’d rather not kill at all, but I accept that it will happen,” Eric finally said and suddenly it felt as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.  “I will try not to let it trouble me.”

A small smile appeared on his Maker’s face and he nodded.

Eric knelt beside the little girl, whispering the prayers that would guide the girl’s spirit to the haven of dead children.  The gods would protect her and nothing evil would ever harm her again. 

“I am not in the habit of killing children,” the boy said abruptly.  “I have not killed one in centuries.”

“This will be the last time.”  Eric glanced up.  “You can help me bury her.”

The boy frowned at him, but after a moment, he bent down to help.  Their combined speed and strength allowed them to quickly dig a grave to bury her in and they were done before the rain started up again.  The boy sat against the tree again, but Eric remained upright, ignoring the rain.

He bent down and began digging another hole.  When he was done, he picked up his sword and set it carefully in its grave.  Even though he knew it by heart, he studied it one last time.  This was the closest thing to a funeral he would have.  He covered it over.

...

 

Daytime.  The water was icy and he had no idea how long he’d been sitting there.  His limbs felt like they were made of lead and he struggled to lift up an arm to turn the tap off.  After a few blind gropes, he looked up and focused intently to make his body obey.  He got out of the shower and wiped himself down. 

He staggered over to the bed and collapsed, staring up at the ceiling.  He could feel blood trickling down his face and was almost able to convince himself that it was from being awake during the day.

 


	8. Chapter Eight

The AVL was still managing the ‘Russell Edgington incident’, trying to win over the human public with the image of fuzzy, cute vampires that wouldn’t harm a fly because True Blood was all they needed.

The Authority’s official statement was that Russell Edgington was dead and Eric wasn’t sure why no-one had approached him confirm it.  Something was up there and he and Pam couldn’t think of any plausible reason why.  Their current plan was to approach Sophie-Anne if it ever got out that Russell was indeed alive. 

As she was busy trying to get as much money out of Russell’s estate as possible, it was in her best interests to help him.  Though apparently she was having trouble with that due to Talbot’s will.    

He did not doubt for a second that they would come for him eventually.

When he hadn’t seen any further visions of Godric, Eric agreed with Pam's theory.  It must have been a side-effect of Sookie's fairy blood.  **Had** to be. 

Despite the incredible ability to walk in a sun for a few minutes, if it meant seeing visions of _Saint_ _Godric_ again, he had no desire to drink from her again, even if they were having sex.  He didn’t want to think about Godric at all: brutal, self-righteous, or loving. 

Not.  At.  All. 

Pam could tell though.  Pam had noticed his damaged desk and said nothing, she nudged him when his silences stretched out that tiny bit too long when someone was talking to him, and she just stared stonily at him when he got angry over nothing and let him take it out on her.  She hadn’t said anything yet, but she would soon and he knew it.

The last patrons had been thrown out of the club, leaving Ginger, Pam and Eric.  Ginger was tidying up the bar, Pam was in the ladies room on the phone to someone, and Eric sat at his desk, staring off into space.

 

...

 

**Early winter.  938 AD.  Sweden.**

The first snow had driven the villagers inside their warm homes.  Despite the late hour, Eric could hear them, some still talking and laughing.  He smiled wistfully, wishing he could join in the merriment.  Others were already huddled up, sleeping.  Considering the bitter cold, he wouldn’t have minded that either.

He wasn’t sure which was worse – the numbing pain of the cold, or the burning hunger that made his insides feel dry and scratchy.  They hadn’t come across any travellers in several days; his last meal had been the little girl.  The thirst was agonising, making him feel dizzy and weak, but he hadn’t said anything.  Eric wasn’t sure if his Maker felt as awful as he did, though he was such a stoic, it was impossible to tell what might bother him.    

Pulling his cloak around him tighter, Eric looked around for the boy.  All he had on was his blood stained trousers and Eric had no idea how the boy could stand the cold like this.  His skin looked more blue than white it was so cold, and when Eric had teased him about it, he’d just gotten a nonplussed look in response.

The boy was going from house to house, studying each one carefully, though he avoided the houses that clearly had people awake in them.  Eric raised an eyebrow.  _Surely he’s going to lure someone out for us to feed from?_  

“What are you doing?”

The boy walked over to him, motioning for him to be quiet.  “Be careful,” he whispered, flicking his hair out of his eyes.  “We do not want them to know we are here yet.”

Eric's eyebrow went higher.  “Yet?” he repeated.

As the boy looked the village over again, Eric saw that frost had formed in his tangled hair.  His Maker turned to him, looking a little frustrated.  “Which of these houses is most likely to have a cellar?”

“A cellar?”  Puzzled by the question, Eric looked around.  “Not one of the houses.”  He reluctantly slipped his arm out from under the feeble protection of his cloak and pointed through the swirling snow.  “The hall probably will.”

The boy looked too, frowning thoughtfully.  “That hall would not be a home to anyone in particular, correct?”

“No-one would sleep there, if that’s what you mean.  Too cold.”

“Good.  We must be invited to enter a human home by someone that lives inside, but the invitation can be rescinded and we are forced to leave.”  He started towards the hall.  “No sunlight can get into a cellar.  We can rest there during the day.”

“During the...”  Eric blinked in astonishment and forced his aching legs to catch up.  “But people will go down there during the day!”

“There are ways around that.”  The boy paused in front of the door, listening for any signs of activity inside.  Hearing none, he pushed the door of the empty hall open.  “And keep your voice down.”

Eric watched as the boy put his foot through the doorway, moving it from side to side, testing for a potential barrier.  Finding none, he cautiously stepped inside, looking around, and Eric followed him.  Being inside felt strange.  Once familiar household items, like the tables and chairs, seemed almost foreign now after so long away from them.  He glanced over at the boy and saw he had a similar look of apprehension.  _How long since he was in a house_ , Eric wondered.

People had been in here earlier.  The braziers had been left to die down on their own, the embers were barely glowing anymore, and now the big room wasn’t particularly warm.   

Dishes were neatly stacked at one end of the table, the rushes on the floor had recently been sprinkled with herbs to freshen them, furs lay over the chairs to soften them, and smoked and salted meats lined the far wall.  Chests full of communal items, such as blankets, candles, and old clothes, were pushed into the far back corner.  They walked around the large room until the boy found the trapdoor that would lead to the cellar. 

The cellar stairs went down a surprisingly long way and it was faintly warmer at the bottom, if a bit musty.  Only barrels of mead and wine were stored down here.  There was also a small cache under the stairs, with a door and a latch.  The boy studied it carefully.    

“It must have held valuables at some point,” Eric guessed.  “Or maybe weapons.  If we line it with furs, it will be a comfortable place to sleep, won’t it?”

The boy peered into it again and after a quick assessment, he shrugged and nodded. 

Excited by the prospect of not having to sleep in the ground, Eric went back upstairs and started opening and closing the lids of the chests.  Finally, he found one with several wool blankets inside.  He went to grab the top blanket and saw the boy several feet away, watching him. 

Eric's hand hovered over the blanket, deliberating.  The neutral expression on the boy’s face was normal, but it was the tilt of his head, his chin towards his chest, that made Eric pause.  He was doing something, or about to do something wrong, and the boy was waiting for him to realise it. 

He looked into the chest, trying to figure out what it might be.  While focusing on the blankets, he absently became distracted by the prettily embroidered top blanket.  _If someone looks in here, they’ll notice one is missing_.  He closed the lid of the chest slowly, looking around thoughtfully. _I need blankets that won’t be missed straight away_.

He investigated another couple of chests and finally found a few plain, slightly moth eaten wool blankets.  _These will suffice_.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the boy nod and smile. 

Eric was searching for a few furs he’d be able to use when heard a chair scrapping across the floor. 

“Be quiet,” he said without thinking.  Then he smiled at himself, pleased that the reminders were starting to stick. 

The boy was sitting on the king’s chair at the head of the table, his legs draped over the side, studying a scroll he’d found somewhere, his finger running over the words as he mouthed them to himself.  Eric gaped.  It seemed surreal for this feral boy to be so.... at ease with homey surroundings.  Despite his filthy appearance, he seemed to fit in naturally.

“What’s going on?” Eric asked.  Even though he couldn’t read, he craned his neck to see what it was on the scroll that could have possibly fascinated his Maker so much.  “Aren’t we here for just a single day?”

“No.”  The boy shook his head.  “We are going to spend the winter here.”  He set the scroll aside and a bewildered Eric joined him at the table, a brief respite as his ability to stand upright weakened. 

“You know that you have to master yourself.”  The boy actually drew a breath.  “I will teach you how to walk among humans, live in their world, but not be seen.” 

He smiled at Eric's astounded expression.  “When you are ready, we can go to a city.  Maybe Rome, or Madurai, or Constantinople.  Find others.”  His gaze drifted.  “Perhaps even join one of their nests.”

“Nests?”

The boy smiled again and pulled the scroll back.  “When a group of our kind live together, it’s called a nest.  I have no idea why.  We can fly, but otherwise, we are nothing likes birds.”

“We can fly?” Eric was dumfounded by this new, thoroughly unexpected prospect.  He looked around the hall, his blue eyes bright with excitement at the thought of flying over it.  “Will you teach me?”   

“Of course.” 

Such a small speech for something that seemed so important to Eric.  He looked around, practically thrumming with anticipation at all he would learn in this village.  He had no idea how they could live with these people yet not be seen, but if the boy knew how, then so would he.  His mind raced ahead, trying to guess the future lessons.

“What does it say?” Eric looked at the scroll again.  The markings on the parchment fascinated him.  No-one in his village had been able to read.  No need for it.  A few summers ago, a merchant had visited and he’d had a book, the first Eric had ever seen.  It had been filled with pictures of animals and paragraphs describing them.  This scroll had no pictures, only words.

“It’s a history of the leaders of the village,” the boy said.  He pointed to different words.  “See here?  This is the name of their first king, Ragnböjrg.  And this is the name of his son, Ari.  And his son Eystvinn.  This line here says that Eystvinn had no sons, so the crown went to his nephew, Haraldr.” 

Eric couldn’t make out the connection between the markings.  The boy chuckled.  “I will teach you how to read.”

“I didn’t think reading would be something you’d be interested in,” Eric said truthfully.  “It’s such a human thing and you... well, you don’t hold humans in high regard.”

His Maker ran his fingers over the page as he considered Eric's words.  “I did not always dislike them,” he said softly.  “I can read and speak many languages.”

 _Even ones that no-one speaks anymore_ , Eric remembered with a pang.  “Tell me more about the other draugar and their nests.”

The boy’s brow furrowed.  “Draugar?” he repeated, confused.  Eric realised he’d never used the term before in front of the boy.

“It’s what my people call creatures like us,” Eric said.  “Are there other names for us?”

“I’ve heard many.  Rakshasa, vrykolakas.”  The boy ticked them off on his fingers.  “Lamia, vetala, impundulu.  If we’re in a group, we just refer to ourselves as blood drinkers.”  He shrugged.  “A good a name as any.”

“And the nests?”

“There are many rules and strict etiquettes.”  The boy rolled his eyes.  “If you live among them, you will be treated as though you are a child at first because you are so young.”  He smiled impishly.  “You will not enjoy that.”

Eric wasn’t sure if the boy was teasing him.  “Did they treat you like that?”

“Yes.”  The memory irked the boy so much that his fangs extended.  “I did not learn their ways until after I left my Maker.” 

Eric couldn’t imagine his Maker being so young that his eyes still looked youthful.  “Can they do that to you still?”

“Unless there is one in the nest older than myself, no.  Most nests are made up of younger... draugar for protection and company.”  The fangs retracted.  “If you listen to their stories, you will learn many things from them.  The more you learn, the longer you will live.”

Even if he would be treated like a child, Eric looked forward to meeting the others.  _Until then_ , _I will pay attention to every word he says_ , Eric thought.  _And then..._

“I think when I have mastered myself, I shall woo the first beautiful woman I can find and have her.”  Eric grinned at his own imaginings.  “Then listen in while she gloats about the magnificent stranger she spent the night with before.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”  Eric smirked at the boy.  “When was the last time you bedded a pretty girl?”

When he frowned thoughtfully, Eric burst out laughing.  “If you have to think about it, it’s been too long!”

“I have not spoken to anyone in over a century,” the boy said, sounding rather peevish.  “So I have not had the chance.”

“A century?”  Eric was appalled.  It had been almost four months for him now.  _That’s the longest I’ve gone without a women since ...  Hmmm.  My first when I was fourteen_. 

 _A woman’s heart will beat faster then_ , Eric realised, pondering the potential ramifications.  Then a truly terrible thought occurred to him.  “We’re not impotent, are we?”

The boy burst into laughter.  “No,” he said, grinning broadly. 

Smiling in relief, Eric looked around and saw a footwarmer pushed into a corner.  It was covered in dust.  _No-one will notice it missing_ , he decided.  It would heat up their little hiding place nicely.  He filled it up with glowing embers.  “Let’s go back downstairs.  It’s too cold in here.”

The boy nodded and put the scroll back.  He looked around the room again carefully, and then shifted the chairs back into the exact spots they’d been in before he and Eric had sat down.  He glanced at the group of chests.  “You did not disturb them too much while searching through them?”

“No,” Eric said, shifting uncomfortably.  It felt like dry sand was coursing through his veins.  “Unless they memorised the chest, no-one will immediately notice that we’ve pilfered a few blankets and furs.”

The boy nodded and carried the blankets while Eric carried the warmer downstairs.  The cache was small, but serviceable.  With the footwarmer emitting a little heat and with the blankets, their newly acquired sleeping space was surprisingly comfortable.  _Certainly better than sleeping in the ground_.

Eric dropped down, leaning against the wall and the boy sat opposite him, crossing his legs.  Eric smiled.  “You’ll need clothes.”

“I know.”  The boy wrinkled his nose.  “I haven’t worn much clothing in a long time.”  He evidently wasn’t looking forward to it.

The boy’s hair was defrosting and blood stained water trickled down his neck.  Eric sighed.  “Look at you, you’re freezing,” he said.  “Come sit beside me and get warm.” 

The boy rolled his eyes, but humoured him, pushing himself up against Eric.  It took every ounce of self control for Eric not to immediately shove him away.  It was like sitting beside an iceberg.  He saw a smirk on the boy’s pale face and knew he’d done it deliberately. _Little brat_.

“You’re going to need a name, you know,” Eric said as he wrapped a warm blanket around them both.  He tried to hide a wince.  He didn’t want the boy to know how much pain he was in.

The boy’s expression darkened and he turned his face away.  For the life of him, Eric could not understand why his Maker was so unwilling to have something as simple as a name.  Maybe he would explain someday.   

“What did the others call you?” he said.  “When you lived with them in one of those nests?”

“None of them would remember me,” the boy said softly.  “I have not lived in a nest for centuries.”

 _A ghost even to his own kind_.  Eric smiled a little when the boy huddled closer, having realised that warmer was better.

They sat in silence as they warmed up and despite the pain, Eric found himself growing sleepy.  His head drooped forward and he became only vaguely aware of his surroundings, caught between sleep and wakefulness.  Occasionally he would jerk, glancing around blearily before remembering where he was and then he would drift off again.

When he jerked awake again, he saw the boy watching him intently.  As Eric wondered why, it brought him close enough to consciousness to become aware of the pain.  He shifted, grimacing, and lay down, trying to get comfortable.  He pulled another blanket over him, leaving the other to fall around the shoulders of the boy.

Just as he felt sleep claim him, cold, soft fingertips brushed down his cheek and came to rest on his lower lip.

“What do you wish to name me?”

Eric stirred enough to look up into his Maker’s grey eyes.

“Godric.”

The boy cocked his head.  “Why that?”

“Because you are as powerful as a god.”  A loose interpretation of the words he’d heard the monks use, but he liked his meaning better.  His eyelids grew heavy. 

“Here,” the boy said gently, lifting Eric's head into his lap.  Eric opened his eyes in time to see his Maker bite into his own wrist and placed the wound to Eric's lips.  “Drink.”

Eric hesitated, thinking about what the boy had said about the strange connection that would grow stronger between them if Eric drank his blood.  _Do I want that?_

But when a few drops of the boy’s blood trickled down his throat, he didn’t care the slightest bit.  This was nothing compared to what he’d felt while drinking before.  This was more potent, more blissful, more quenching, better than anything he could have imagined.  It felt like every single nerve was being gently caressed.

“I offered this life to you because I thought you worthy of it,” the boy whispered.  His voice seemed far away to Eric.  “You need to learn to ask for help.  I waited all night for you to tell me how much it pained you to be so hungry.”  

Eric bit down harder and the boy gasped, a shudder running through him.  Out of the corner of his eye, Eric saw the boy’s face relax, his eyes loosing focus as they closed partway, his lips curving into a languid smile.  _He’s enjoying this as much as I am_ , Eric realised. 

Then he **felt** a vague agreement and startled at hearing someone else in his mind, he let go.

The boy opened his eyes and looked down at him.  His fangs were still extended.  “Do feel you better, my Child?” he asked, his wrist already healing over.  Eric nodded tentatively; his inhuman strength was returning. 

The boy wriggled out from beneath him and lay down, his face only inches from Eric's.  Suddenly Eric understood.  Perhaps it was from drinking his blood, he wasn’t sure, but he just _knew_.  His Maker’s desire for control over himself meant that he wanted to be the one to dictate the closeness of their friendship.  That was why he was comfortable being the one to reach out and touch Eric, but became uneasy when Eric touched him first.

He took Eric's hand in his and brought it to his lips, kissing his knuckles lightly.

“I will be Godric for you.” 

Eric smiled and Godric smiled back.

 

...

 

 _Father.  Brother.  Son.  Friend._  

 

Eric blinked, startled out of his reverie. 

Ginger was screaming. 


	9. Chapter Nine

He'd heard her silly shrieking so often, it was hard to tell what she was screaming about most of the time.  As her screaming continued, Eric decided it was her tell-tale scream of fear.  Cautiously, he crept from his office into the closed club to investigate.

Ginger stood in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by four naked people, two men, a scrawny teenager and a thin woman.  Their animal smell gave them away and the yellow glow in their eyes confirmed it.  Werewolves.

Thankfully, Ginger stopped her irritating screaming when she saw him, opting to stare at him in wide eyed hope that he could handle this situation.  On the other side of the room, he saw Pam leaning against the wall, staying out of sight of the werewolves, her fangs out. 

"Club is closed I'm afraid."  His own fangs lengthened.

They instantly turned to face him and he saw immediately that they were going through withdrawal.  The werewolves were covered in sweat, adding to their beast-like smell, and were shivering, particularly the female.  She was holding a backpack in her shaking hands.  _I know her_ , Eric realised.  He could faintly smell vampire blood in their system.  _They're Russell's pet wolves_. 

When they saw that he'd recognised them, they shifted uneasily and their eyes kept flickering to one of the males, a man so beefy that he must have been pumped full of steroids as well as vampire blood.  The male was trying to stare him down as though this was a dogfight, baring his teeth.  Maybe to another werewolf it would be intimidating, but it was anything but to a vampire.    

Eric blinked twice at him, and on the far side of the room, Pam nodded in understanding.  When Eric broke eye contact to assess the other three, the big male werewolf evidently thought that he'd dominated a vampire.  He smiled smugly.

 _Unfortunately, they have the advantage._ Despite his excellent hearing, Eric couldn’t tell how many – if any – more of Russell's werewolves were around the club and dawn was extremely near.  All the animals had to do was delay them long enough and he and Pam would be trapped in the bar. 

There were safe places in the club for such emergencies, but the animals could easily sniff out a vampire's resting place.  Coupled with a fire, Eric realised that he might end up seeing the sun again, but without the help of fairy blood.

He glanced at Ginger.  She was trembling, and now that he was there, she was trying to look haughty, prove to the werewolves that she was utterly confident in his ability to kick their asses.  Her lower lip trembled, wreaking her image, but Eric hoped she thought that he’d try to save her if one of the werewolves did something stupid, like take her hostage.

"We want Russell back," the teen said, trying to sound tough.  The boy's eyes glowed yellow.  Eric held back a laugh, wondering why on earth this kid would think he’d be frightened by a teenager with messy blonde hair and a feeble effort of stubble mingling with the acne on his cheeks. 

Eric shrugged, using the movement to fall into stance that would allow him to strike easily.  "No can do." 

"He's not dead," the woman said insistently.  Her blonde hair was matted with sweat.  Withdrawal was never kind; she was shaking so hard now that she nearly dropped the bag.   

"Don’t you watch the news?  The nice vampire lady on TV says he’s dead," Eric said coldly.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pam tense up, ready to fight, her eyes never leaving the big male.

"Give us Russell," the second male said.  He was covered in tattoos, mainly naked women and wolves.  The desperation in his voice was easy to hear.  "Or we'll torch your club!"

"Shut up," hissed the female, glaring at him.  Apparently verbal threats were not part of their plan.  "You idiot!"

 _What exactly do these wolves want?_ He reconsidered.  Perhaps they stupidly thought that because he'd associated himself with Russell, that he'd be willing to take them in.  Feed them his blood, keep them as pets, like Russell had?   The very thought made him smile scornfully.  _Or do they think I'm a friend of Russell's and will help them find their master?_

When Eric said nothing and the silence stretched on, the female nervously glanced back at the big male and they nodded at each other.  Eric didn't take his eyes off the male as the female tossed the bag to Ginger.  Ginger caught it automatically, whimpering.  She looked up at Eric, unsure of what to do.

"What's in the bag?" Eric asked casually, casting a quick look at Ginger.  Ginger tentatively opened the bag, peering inside, and immediately dropped it.

Eric couldn't help but roll his eyes when she started screaming again.  Though he supposed finding a severed hand in a backpack would make a human scream.   

The hand was just limp flesh, no blood in it at all. There was a silver ring on the thumb, and the flesh around it had sizzled away slightly before all the blood was drained out.  A vampire's hand.

"He tastes real good," the female said, gazing at the hand longingly.  "Real good."

"Give us Russell," the big male said ominously, nudging the hand with his bare foot.  "Or we'll send you more body parts."

 _Big threat_ , Eric thought, unimpressed with their low brow blackmail.  _Obviously they don't know that vampires can regrow limbs_.  He looked at them again, going from one hardened face to the other.  _Why are they so confident that Russell is alive_?

They hedged backwards towards the door, cautiously moving around a now crying Ginger. Together, they transformed and all four ran towards the door. 

Eric ripped at his wrist with his fangs, and the scent of the blood instantly caught their attention.  They swung around, staring at his dripping wrist hungrily.  The female was even stupid enough to step towards him, eyes bright with yearning.  He almost smiled.  _Too easy_. 

Pam pounced on the big male, catching him by surprise and quickly knocked him out first.  Unconscious, he shifted into his human form.  The female was out cold beside him before she even had the chance to look over.  Pam smacked the teenage wolf in the head and he was out cold too.  She looked around for the remaining male.

He snarled at her and she snarled back.  He jumped towards her and earned himself a spiked heel in the side of his neck.  He fell over, thrashing pitifully as blood gushed from his neck. 

 "Ugh, it'll take us ages to get the dog smell out of here," Pam grumbled, wrinkling her nose.  She pulled her blood covered shoe out of the werewolf's neck, taking it off to inspect the damage.  "Fucker ruined my shoes." 

“See,” Eric said dryly, “this is why we question people before killing them.”

“Three out of four is good enough.”  She kicked the dying werewolf in the head with her other foot, killing him and ruining her other shoe.  Eric sniggered as she pulled the dripping sandals off.  She gazed at them mournfully.  “They were such gorgeous shoes too.” 

Ginger started shrieking again and they both looked over, irritated.  For some macabre reason, she’d dared to look in the bag again and had dragged out a length of jagged skin.

Getting up with an impatient sigh, Pam grabbed Ginger by the shoulder, dragging her, none too gently, to the office. 

"Come on, you stupid human."  The piece of skin dropped to the floor.  She called back, “If that’s Bill’s hand, we are _not_ helping him and Sookie again.” 

Eric rolled his eyes.  _She’s not going to have a functioning brain cell left soon_ , he thought as he watched Ginger tearfully follow.  He waited until his wrist healed over before picking up the hand to inspect it.  A very familiar scent hit him. 

When Pam came back, minus Ginger, Eric was still standing there holding the hand.  She picked up the skin, holding it out in front of her, as if displaying a shirt.  “So, who owns this?” 

Eric stared at the elaborate tattoo etched into it as she brought it over.  Whoever it belonged to was now missing quite a bit of skin, probably from the base of the neck to the lower back.  Long waving lines, like claw marks, crossing over each other in a reptilian design.  It had been crudely hacked off the owner, there was another part of a marking, a red symbol, but the other half was missing. 

"Godric," Eric said hoarsely.

 


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summer.  1020 AD.  France.**

 

Chills ran down Eric's spine when he heard the howls of wolves echo throughout the valley.

In his mind, he could still hear his father calling out to him, see his sword go into the chest of a wolf that turned into a man before he’d even hit the floor.  He remembered very clearly the three horizontal lines and a single diagonal line connecting them on the man’s neck.  Saw the wolf picking up his father’s crown and giving it to his master.  The wolves, man and the crown disappearing into the swirling snow, leaving him to listen to his father’s final gasping words as his life’s blood spilled on the floor. 

Godric stopped abruptly, staring at the ground, and Eric ran into him.  Any other time, Godric would have turned around and scolded him, “ _Always pay attention to your surroundings_.” 

As he didn’t, Eric warily stepped around him to see was had captured his Maker’s attention.  It took him a moment to spot it.  There were tracks all over the dirt road, but he could see where several pairs of human tracks stopped and paw prints started.  Their pattern wasn’t noticeable with a casual glance, but when studied, they melded together.  Eric drew a breath.  _It can’t be_.       

When the wolves howled again, Godric turned to look back the way they’d just come.  He scanned the area, frowning thoughtfully. 

“What is it?” Eric finally asked, even though he already knew.    

“Shape shifters.” Godric glanced at him, hearing the fear in his voice.  He paused, waiting to see if Eric would explain.  When he didn’t, Godric returned to looking down the road.   “They will not be pleased that we are in their territory.”

Eric flinched as the howls came closer.  “We should leave before they find us then.”  

“No.”  His Maker shook his head.  “We will greet them and apologise for the intrusion.” 

Eric immediately cursed himself for letting his fear show through.  Of course, Godric would make him confront it, even if he didn’t know the reason behind it.  _The reason wouldn’t matter_ , Eric thought.

Godric gave no indication that he knew the thoughts going through Eric's head.  He focused on the direction the animals seemed to be coming from.  “You should always be courteous to other supernatural beings.”

There were answering howls in the opposite direction.  _They’ve surrounded us_.  Eric stood by Godric's side, facing the other way.  They could watch in each direction to see where the wolves would come from first, ready to defend themselves if necessary. 

“Why should we be courteous to animals?”  If Godric wanted him to understand something, he would.  It was plain stupidity to do otherwise. 

“Which would you prefer?”  Godric chuckled at Eric's naiveté, but kept watching the trees around them.  “An ally or an enemy?”

“An ally,” Eric said cautiously.  He could hear feet crashing through the undergrowth and panting dogs. 

“Then be polite.”  Godric looked up into Eric's face.  “Do not think of them as just animals, my Child.  They are two natured; both animal _and_ human.”

A group of wolves with eerie yellow eyes emerged from behind the trees on all sides.  Ears laid back, their fur upright and their mouths drawn back far enough to reveal their teeth, they looked just as wild as any wolves Eric had ever seen. 

Godric nudged him and Eric turned to see a large, dark grey wolf and a pale female wolf step forward.

 

_Bring me the crown._

 

Astounded, Eric watched as the two wolves turned into humans, a man and a woman.  They straightened up, not minding their nakedness, and the man stepped closer again.  Eric looked at their necks, searching for the scar he’d seen on the shape shifters that had killed his parents.  Not seeing it on their necks, he quickly looked them all over, but all he saw was smooth, unblemished skin.  _Why don’t they have that mark?_

The man’s now hazel eyes immediately went to Eric, assuming, as most humans did, that he was the leader because of his older appearance.  His eyes glinted yellow for a second, and Eric felt a chill of fear go through him and he quickly moved behind Godric. 

Confused, the man looked from the older uneasy face to the young expressionless face, trying to figure out which of them was in charge. 

“Why are you here, demons?” the man growled, finally focusing his glare on Godric. 

“We are only passing through.”  With his hands behind his back, Godric inclined his head.  “We mean no disrespect.” 

The unaggressive surface hiding Godric's savagery was proof of his Maker’s intense self control in the face of the man’s hostility.  As his fear of the wolves continued to increase, Eric wished he was as strong.  The chill rapidly spread through him, the complete opposite of what he felt when he drank.  A human heart would be beating frantically, but lacking that, all Eric felt was icy terror. 

Yellow eyes turned his way, intrigued by his obvious fear.  The group of wolves was tensed and ready to attack if ordered to, but his Maker simply waited as the frowning man debated the truth of Godric's words.   

 

_Don’t be a hero, Viking._

 

“Did you kill anyone in the village?” the man demanded.  Several wolves to Eric's right growled and he braved a glance at them.  _Is the symbol hidden beneath their fur_?

“No,” Godric said, truthful.  “We left them with their lives.”

 “Another of your kind was here not long ago. She killed many.”  The woman glared at Godric, as though he were to blame.  She stepped closer to the male.  “I think we should kill them.  They claim they haven’t killed here, but they’ll kill elsewhere.”  She gave Godric a scornful look.  “They always do.”

 _You would know._ Eric thought of the wolf ripping out his father’s throat. 

Godric's cold eyes flickered to her, barely acknowledging the fact that she’d spoken, and then looked back to the leader. 

“We will be gone by daybreak,” he said firmly. 

“Send them to their true death,” the woman urged again and several wolves yelped in agreement.

Godric ignored her.  Angered by his indifference, she focused on Eric.  Under her furious glare, he cringed back.   

“Your pathetic friend looks too frightened of us to do much of anything.”  The fear in Eric's face proved too tempting and her body coiled as she prepared to change form.  “I bet we could easily kill him.”

That got a reaction.  Godric's grey eyes glanced in the direction of several puppy sized wolves that were standing at the far edge of the group.  The man started in alarm. 

“Enough!” the man said angrily, whirling on her.  He glared at her until she transformed back into a wolf and lay down meekly. 

Satisfied with her submissiveness, he turned to Godric.  “We merely want to protect the people in this valley.”

Godric nodded.  “I understand.”

The man studied Godric for another moment, trying to figure out if he was angry, but Godric's neutral expression gave away nothing.  He sighed.  “Please do not come back.” 

“Thank you.”  Godric nodded again.  “Farewell.”  He turned around, pausing for the wolves to step out of his way.  Yellow eyes watched them go. 

Closely following, Eric could not remember the last time he’d felt so ashamed and humiliated. 

He hated that these creatures would no doubt laugh over his fear.  He hated that bitch of a woman for frightening him.  Mostly, he hated that Godric had seen something from his human life. 

Godric would ask him to explain, but he wouldn’t care why.  He would only want Eric to overcome his fear of them. 

Eric cocked his head, still able to hear the wolves.  His hearing was particularly sharp; he could tell that some of the wolves, probably the puppies, were playfully wrestling and others were simply watching over them.  He couldn’t hear the man telling off the woman.  Perhaps he would punish her some other way.  Or maybe not at all.

 

_You know what to do._

_Yes._

_Vengeance..._

_Vengeance._

 

 _The must know something_ _about the murderers of my parents_.  Eric looked at the back of Godric's head, thinking over his earlier advice, and then grudgingly asked himself:  _Can I be gracious towards the creatures that killed my parents?_

In the distance, he heard the wolves begin to leave.  _I have no choice._ He stopped mid-step.  _I **need** to know_. 

He leapt into the air, flying back to them.  

He landed several feet away from the startled pack.  They growled warily, their yellow eyes darting around, looking for Godric.  But he didn’t appear.

Eric went down on one knee before the dark haired leader.  The wolf transformed into a human again, clearly curious.      

Swallowing back his fear, Eric looked at the man’s feet.  “I would like to ask you something.”

The man raised an eyebrow and several of the wolves tilted their heads, puzzled.  At least the aggressive female stayed away.

“What do you want to know?” the man grunted.  The suspicious tone in his voice made Eric anxious.  Perhaps he’d refuse to answer.

Eric drew the four connected lines in the ground. 

“Please, can you tell me if any of you recognise this mark?” 

To his surprise, all the wolves came closer to look.  They studied it carefully, glancing at each other to see if someone else recognised it. 

Watching them, Eric saw the spark of human intelligence in their yellow eyes and felt he understood what Godric meant about them being two natured.  Animals would not have done this, but humans could.

One by one they shook their heads. 

Disappointed, Eric went to wipe his hand over the dirt, but a wolf with a greying muzzle nosed his hand away.  It stared at the mark intently, then transformed into an elderly man with a long beard. 

He peered closer at the symbol with human eyes and nodded.

“I was a boy when I saw a wolf with this mark.”  He looked up at his leader, disgusted.  “He was not fit to be one of the two-natured.”

“How so?”  The man looked as surprised as Eric was that someone had recognised the mark. 

“He enjoyed the blood and tears of others.”  He turned his gaze on Eric.  The old man didn’t say anything further, but his point was clear.  The wolf had reminded him of blood-drinkers.

“Please, are you able to tell me where this was?” Eric asked him, unable to hide his hope. 

“North of here,” the old man said.  He shrugged.  “It was a long time ago.  He probably moved on.”

 _The Northlands.  They **must** be the same_.

“Is that any help to you?” the leader asked as the old man returned to his wolf form and walked off.     

“Yes.” Eric bowed.  “Thank you.”

 _They’re still out there_.

 

.

 

Just before dawn, Eric leaned against the wall of the cave they’d found refuge in for the day.  His mind was filled dreams of revenge, attacking the marked wolves and killing the man that had stolen his father’s crown.  He hadn’t had such thoughts in decades. 

Godric knelt in front of him.  

“You have seen them before,” Godric said, his grey eyes studying Eric's face. 

“Yes,” Eric said, not meeting his eyes.  He had not told Godric about his slain parents and sister.  Other than the occasional casual remark – which Godric would ignore - he had not spoken about his human life since the conversation about his children.  Remembering what had happened that night made him reluctant to speak of his family again.  His Maker remained kneeling, waiting for Eric to explain further. 

“What happened?” Godric pressed. 

“When I was sixteen, those creatures killed my infant sister, my mother and my father,” Eric said quietly, drawing the symbol in the dirt beside him.

“I killed one.”  He drew the connecting line.  “He had this mark on his neck.”

Godric studied it for a few seconds, and then looked up.  “Do you fear them now?”

“I don’t know,” Eric admitted, thinking of how helpful the wolves had been.  _Animal and human_.  But he’d seen those four joined lines in his nightmares for months after his parents were murdered.  _How can fear that strong be overcome so easily_?

“We will cross paths with shape shifters again.”  Leaning back, Godric smiled.  “I have faith in you, my Child.  You will conquer your fear.”   

Pleased, but unconvinced, Eric looked at him.  “Why do we want to be allied with those creatures?”

“They can recognise us,” Godric said patiently.  “They can be a danger to us because they can walk in the sun.”

“We _fear_ them?” Eric said incredulously.  _They could attack again!_   He scowled.  “That sounds like an excellent reason to kill them to me.”

Godric gripped his chin, forcing Eric to meet his narrowed gaze.  “To kill out of fear is a foolish, human thing to do.”  He let go, still looking at him sternly.  “You know better.”

“All of us are creatures that stand apart from humans.  That makes us brothers.” Godric's eyes darkened.  “For someone who values kindred so much, you should recognise the foolishness of fighting with family.”

Eric flinched at the rebuke, and at the idea of thinking of the murderers of his parents as related to him in some way.  He had seen how in-fighting among blood-drinkers had weakened nests and knew Godric had a valid point.

He glared down at the mark etched into the ground beside him.  “I just wish I could find those demon beasts.” 

“Why?” 

Eric gave him a scathing look.  He knew how well Godric understood the minds and hearts of men.  He had once said to Godric that he would avenge his father and he had just revealed why.  Now Godric tried to play dumb.  It was insulting. 

“Why should I waste our time when you know what I’ll say?” Eric demanded.  “Especially when we both know that you won’t care about it?”

Godric’ jaw tightened and he lowered his eyes, but did not deny it. 

“I can listen,” his Maker said, his voice a little stiff.  “Perhaps then you will let it go.”

Surprised, Eric regarded Godric thoughtfully.  Eric had long accepted his Maker’s indifference to his human life, though he hadn’t realised that Godric might not have understood that he would not let go of it entirely. 

“I promised my father I’d avenge his death.”  Eric's fingers twitched as he remembered the feeling of his father’s blood covering his hands as he’d tried to stop the bleeding.  “We couldn’t find them, or their master.”

“Their master?”

Now Eric's hands tightened in anger.  “A man commanded them, told the wolves to bring him my father’s crown.  In my head I gave up hope of ever finding him, but not in my heart.  When you turned me, I’d thought I might be able to track them and kill them.  All of them.”  He looked to the entrance of the cave.  “When I find out where they are, I’ll be able to.”

“Shape shifters are mortal,” Godric sighed.  “They have likely been dead a long time, my Child.” 

It had not occurred to him that the demon dogs that had attacked his family would die.  He’d just assumed that all supernatural creatures were immortal, like he was.  Eric continued to stare out the entrance, feeling... detached from everything around him.  Thoughts he’d managed to keep at bay for years crept in.  _Everyone who knew me is dead._ He closed his eyes.  _My children_...

Missing his children was an old pain, one that he’d gotten used to... but **accepting** that they were **dead** was completely different.  They’d grown up and he’d missed it all.  The grief welled up again and Godric saw it in his face.

“Control your emotions, my Child.”  He wiped his hand over the symbol, as if clearing the rest of Eric's human life away.

Eric spun around, his fangs bared.  “Go to hell, you cold-hearted bastard!”

Godric stood up, looking down at Eric with cold eyes.  Despite being unsurprised by it, Eric was angered and hurt by Godric's lack of empathy. 

“You torture yourself needlessly by thinking of them,” Godric said after a moment.  His cool fingers touched Eric's shoulder lightly, something that normally would have greatly surprised him, but now he shook Godric off. 

“You’ve never lost someone you love.  You couldn’t understand, Godric,” he said bitterly.  Eric buried his face in his hands.  “Just leave me alone.”

He would never be able to get revenge for his father.  For something that he’d long thought he’d reconciled to, it hurt far more than he’d expected.

Godric hadn’t moved.  He was staring at the ground, his hands balled into fists, and his nails were digging in so hard they drew blood.  Through his fingers, Eric saw his Maker’s rigid posture and grew angrier.  _If he’s angry with me for caring about my family_...

“I said, leave me **alone!** ” Eric snapped.  Godric glanced at him and nodded.

“As you wish, my Child.”  Godric retreated into the depths of the cave.

Eric was angry about his newly realised losses and tired of grieving for the old ones.  He would never be able to convey how strongly his people believed in honour and righteousness. 

For months he had tried to find mysterious man and his demon wolves.  It had been all he could think about.  But by the following autumn, the elders of the village had demanded he cease his searching and take his rightful place as king. 

Outraged that he should be forced to ruin his family’s honour by not avenging his father, he’d fought angrily against them.  Eric had always felt judged for failing his father by the same men who demanded he accept his duties as king.  _I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore_ , Eric thought miserably.  _They’re all dead_.

Despondent, he watched sunlight creep into the eastward facing cave.  Though he wasn’t in the direct path, it still pained him a little, but he felt too inert to move.  Blood trickled from his ears, eyes and nose, but he didn’t care about that either. 

_I have no family anymore._

It wasn’t until the light reached his toes that he got up, staggering to the back of the cave, away from the sunlight.

To Eric's surprise, Godric was awake, and blood covered his face too.  He was lying on his back, though he must have been sitting up at one point because there was dried blood on his legs.

Eric lay down beside him, pointedly not looking at Godric's face.  He briefly considered apologising for losing control of his emotions and being disrespectful, but knew he wouldn’t mean it. 

Eric was just about to doze off when Godric spoke.

“I have not cared about anything in a long time,” Godric said, so softly that Eric could barely hear him. 

Eric glanced over at him.  “Realising that nobody alive knows who you are is a lonely feeling, Godric.” 

“I understand that, my Child,” Godric said, his voice heavy.  “More than you will ever know.”  He sat up and stared intently into his lap.

“You make me feel.  It hurts me to know you are unhappy.  It is something human.”  His grey eyes nervously met Eric’s.  “I had thought all that was human in me was dead.”

“I don’t want it to die in me, Godric.”  Eric sat up as well.  “Can’t you see that?”

“I see it.”  Hesitantly, Godric touched his cheek.  “I am sorry I hurt you.  That is not something I wanted.”

“It’s not in your nature to care about such things,” Eric said.  “I was harsh to you.  I’m sorry.”  He meant it.

“You spoke the truth, my Child,” Godric said, pulling his hand away.  “Don’t apologise for that.”

Looking uncomfortable with his confession, Godric lay back down and rolled over, his back to Eric.  Just before he fell asleep, Eric glanced over at Godric and realised something else.  _I was wrong_. 

 _I still have family_.

 


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Spring.  1073 AD.  Despotiko, South Aegean.**

 

The two witches began kissing him again and their hands began to roam, squeezing invitingly in strategic places.  Eric's fangs slid out and Diamantina giggled, leaning forward to lick them.  Tasoula squeezed harder between his legs.  He was about to take them to a more secluded spot when their heads both snapped up. 

Eric frowned, his fangs retracting, irked by their abrupt shift in attention.  They looked at some spot in the distance, heads cocked as if listening to something.  They smiled excitedly at each other and then staggered to their feet.  The two women were incredibly drunk, and to Eric, it seemed quite a feat for them to get up. 

After a second or two at putting together a sentence in poor Greek, Eric was able to demand, “Where are you going?”   

“Zenobia wants us,” Tasoula said, squinting at him as she tried to focus her vision.  Eric looked around, but couldn’t see the leader of the coven.  The blonde witch smiled and tapped the side of her head.  Seeing his confused look, she explained, “She can speak directly to our minds when she needs to.”

Diamantina bent down and gave him a sloppy kiss, her breath sour with wine.  “We’ll be back soon, vampire,” she slurred in his ear, using a new name for his kind.  Much to Eric's disappointment, the two drunkenly stumbled off.  Witches and warlocks were stumbling around; it appeared Zenobia had summoned them all. 

It had been an enjoyable night.  A coven of witches had invited their nest to their spring equinox celebration.  As far as Eric could tell, other than a few chants and blessings, their celebration mostly involved wine, opium, and sex.  The vampires couldn’t partake in the wine or opium, but they could certainly indulge in the latter.  Eric had thoroughly enjoyed himself with Tasoula and Diamantina earlier. 

Though it was strange, unsettling even, to be with humans that knew what he was.  After years hiding from humans, he felt exposed.  He glanced over to Godric, wondering how he was finding it. 

Here they didn’t have to blend in with the humans, but they were around other vampires. 

When he mingled among humans, Godric wore a mask of humanity.  He wore it easily, but if a person looked into his young face too long, they sometimes saw there was something not quite right about his eyes.  Godric made sure that they didn’t live long after that.

Eric smiled, remembering his first winter in the village.  Godric's behaviour had stunned him.  Literally overnight the wild and merciless killer vanished, replaced with a completely normal young man.  Eric had watched as Godric talked and laughed with the men and flirted and charmed the women. 

Eric had asked why the change, Godric had replied, “ _We need to blend in.  If we act different, they will see us for what we truly are_.”

There was a woman with her head resting in Godric's lap and Eric was surprised that Godric hadn’t pushed her away yet.  She’d curled up against him, her arm draped over his legs.  She’d been conscious when he’d come back with her, but wine and blood loss had caught up with her.

Eric wondered how much longer he’d abide it.  Humans were constantly touching each other, a friendly slap on the back or a sweet caress, and to blend in, Godric tolerated it to a point.  Godric would touch humans, often eagerly, but disliked being touched by _them_. 

“Your Greek is getting better,” Godric commented.  Eric just grunted in response.  According to Godric, if they encountered a new language, it must be learnt.  Seeing as Godric was already fluent in Greek, Eric did not find this fair.   

A few vampires with blood dripping down their chins emerged, straightening out their clothes and picking leaves out of their hair.  They all looked as sated as Eric felt. 

Saule, the Lady of this nest, was among them.  Her eyes flickered around the clearing, counting to make sure everyone in the nest was still present.  The nest was not big – there were only eight of them, plus Eric and Godric who had arrived the night before.  With everyone accounted for, she came over to them. 

Flashing her fangs, she smiled sweetly.  “Are you enjoying yourself, Eric?”

“Yes.”   He eyed her warily.  Once more, he was the youngest vampire in the nest, a position he did not enjoy. 

All the nests they had lived in enjoyed a hedonistic lifestyle - something Eric liked – though Godric tended to be even more regimented than usual.  He would join in their blood filled revels, enjoy the benefits of their decadent lives, but while others got carried away, he did not. 

He never lorded his age over anyone.  To other blood-drinkers, he was dangerous and powerful, yet diplomatic. 

All the Lords or Ladies of the nests had been younger than him and Godric was always deferential to them, in every matter, much to Eric's annoyance. 

As Godric had warned, being a newly turned blood-drinker did essentially make him a whipping boy.  The first time, Eric had complained constantly about it and Godric had no sympathy for him, _“Why make an enemy? If I told them to stop, it would insult the Lord of this nest.  When you are older, it will not happen.  Until then, you will just have to suffer it.”_  

When Eric complained about _that_ , his Maker had finally commanded him to shut up.  For three nights, Eric sulked in silence, unable to speak to anyone, feeling incredibly wronged by the world until Godric permitted him to talk.  Wisely, he did not complain again.

Some nests were incredibly strict about the seemingly age based social order; Eric thought most of the rules incredibly stupid - younger vampires not permitted to speak to anyone older unless spoken to first being a prime example. 

Others were more lax.  Seeing as they’d only been with these vampires for two nights, Eric hadn’t figured out what Saule’s stance was.  _Seeing as we’re consorting with humans who know what we are, she can’t be that puritanical_.

“I’m pleased to hear that,” she said, settling down between them.  She ran her fingers along Eric's neck, and while she was beautiful with her long blonde hair and green eyes, Eric had decided to follow Godric's custom of not having sex with other vampires. 

Godric would eagerly bed humans for it was an easy and pleasurable way to feed, but if one of their own kind touched him, they received a polite, but clear response. 

Eric simply didn’t want immortal women getting possessive of him. 

He smiled politely and shook his head.  She smiled and turned to Godric.  As she reached for him, he tilted his head away. 

Saule laughed and got to her feet.  “The witches said they will be back soon.  You can indulge them again – if they haven’t already tired you out.”

 _Never_ , Eric thought indignantly as Saule walked off, still chuckling.  Eric glanced around again for the two women, but they were gone.  He wondered how long they would take and if they would be back before dawn.     

Godric slid out from under the sleeping woman and got to his feet. 

“Come with me.”

He followed Godric down to the beach.  Eric liked best the times when it was just the pair of them wandering the countryside and Godric behaved as he was in those first days, vicious and playful.  In the years they’d been together, he’d taught Eric how fly, how to hypnotise people, how to read and write, and how to speak different languages, and most importantly, how to feed without killing.  His Maker was always patient, explaining a mistake and showing him how to correct it. 

Eric thought Godric seemed happier when it was just the two of them. 

At this time of night, the soft sand was cold under his bare feet, and Eric smiled, enjoying the warm, salty breeze.  It was a change from the frosty winds that had blown over the sea he’d grown up with.

They climbed over a rocky outcrop, water splashing them as they stepped around the rock pools.  Eric stopped every so often to pick up a shell or a pebble.  He was working on another bracelet for Godric. 

Since the first grass bracelet, Eric had always made some sort of decoration for him, replacing them when they broke or adding to them.  At the moment, Godric wore a braided leather bracelet on one wrist and an anklet made of gold loops.

They sat and Eric was about to dangle his feet in the warm water, but Godric stopped him.

“No.  Demons can bewitch us just as we bewitch humans.”  He sat on a rock a little higher up.  “You must always be on your guard around them.”

“Demons?”  Eric looked out over the dark water, wide-eyed.  “That’s we why came here?”

“Yes.”  Godric smiled at Eric's shocked expression. 

“Why haven’t you told me about them before?” Eric asked.

Godric looked over the water.  “I’ve never known if we encountered any as we cannot sense demons.  I was here once and spoke with them.  I’m hoping they will visit again so I can introduce you.”

Eric laughed.  “What did you speak about?”

Godric just shook his head.  Unsurprised by the lack of answer, Eric thought about all the stories he’d heard about demons.  Every culture and religion he’d encountered had some variation on the creatures, but he didn’t really believe them. 

Ten minutes went by in silence.  Finally, Eric asked, “Do we have to summon them?” 

“They’ll find us, if they want to,” Godric replied, stretching out to make himself more comfortable on the sharp rocks.  “Be patient, my Child.”

Not one of Eric's strong points.  After another ten minutes, Eric was bored.  He drummed his fingers on the rock.  “What was the name of your girl?”

Godric's mouth twitched.  “Which one?”

Eric laughed. How many sexual conquests they could manage a night had been a contest between them since the first village.  By the time Eric had been able to control his desire for blood to begin his quest of bedding as many women as possible, he’d been more than a little indignant to hear many of them dreamily sigh over a night they’d spent with Godric! 

“The girls were Petra and Aglaia, I think.  The man was so full of opium he could barely speak.”

Eric snorted.  He knew Godric had no preference when it came to who he bedded.  If a man paid attention to him, he was just as likely to go off with him as he was a woman.

Then he realised that meant Godric was one up on him and frowned.  He wondered if any of the women would be sober enough to seduce when they returned to the other vampires so he could win their game for tonight.

Suddenly two heads appeared in the water.  Eric sat upright, stunned.  Though they were several yards away, he was able to see feminine faces studying them, and then they ducked back under the water.  He caught a glimpse of a fish tail.

“Mermaids?” he laughed.   A mermaid was not Eric's idea of a demon, but when they surfaced by the rocks, he discovered they weren’t the beautiful women he’d imagined at all. 

They had pale mottled green-blue skin and black-green hair interwoven with seaweed and shells floated around their shoulders.  They stayed several feet away for a few minutes, watching the two vampires curiously, and then one came closer.

She looked up at Godric.  “We remember your storm grey eyes.”  She stared intently at him.

Godric nodded, but didn’t meet her gaze.  “I’m honoured you remember me,” he said.

Eric was able to make out the lower half of her body just below the surface of the water.  It was just below her shapely breasts that her grey-blue scales began and ended with a fishtail of long black fins.

She caught him looking at her and turned her head, smiling.  Her webbed hand began creeping up the rocks to touch his.  Eric inspected the long, curved claws gently stroking his skin.  He looked up, about to speak, but she ducked her head and caught his eyes with her black ones. 

He felt himself go still, transfixed by the sight of her.  Her hand tightened around his wrist, pulling gently.  He leaned forward, awed.  _Her eyes_... 

Godric nudged him pointedly with his foot. 

Eric carefully pulled his hand away from the mysterious sea creature and leaned back against Godric's legs, unnerved.  _She can manipulate me as easily as Godric can_.  Godric gripped his shoulder, his fingers digging in tightly. 

“Practice your Greek,” he whispered into Eric's ear, his voice stern.  Eric nodded.  If forced to focus on his words, Eric wasn’t able to be distracted by the mermaid’s trying to drag him under. 

She laughed and Eric saw that her purple lips hid rows of needle-like teeth that were arranged like a shark’s. 

“Oh, you’re so beautiful.”  She reached into her hair and pulled out a jagged pearl.  She offered it to Eric.  “Now you will be even more beautiful.”

Eric eyed it dubiously, but accepted the token.  “Thank you.” 

The second mermaid smiled.  She came closer and Eric saw that she didn’t have a fishtail at all, but reddish tentacles.  He gaped as she used the suckers on her unfurling limbs to pull herself closer. 

“He has hair like the sun and eyes like ice,” she said, watching him.  Their voices were eerily melodious and Eric was sure that many men had died following those voices into the sea.  He found himself leaning forward, entranced once more.  “We know you,” she crooned.  “You are Eric the North Man.” 

Godric pinched the back of his neck and Eric winced.  A wet hand was brushing against his fingers and he tried to get out of her reach.  _They are nothing if not determined_ , he thought. “How do you know my name?” he demanded.

He jumped in surprise as a slimy tentacle trailed down his face.  “We are the sea,” she said softly.  “If the sea knows it, we know it.”

The fishtailed one slid a hand over Godric's bare foot and he watched her warily, but avoided looking directly into her eyes.  “His stormy eyes have changed since we spoke to him last,” she said over her shoulder to the other.  Her nails ran up his leg and she tried to catch his eye.  “Haven’t you?”

Godric glanced at Eric.  “Perhaps,” he said softly.

Tentacles wrapped around Eric's wrists, jerking him forward and he nearly fell into the water.  Godric instantly grabbed him, furiously pulling him back by the waist, but she didn’t let go.    

The fishtailed demon lunged for Godric, grabbing him by the leg and rolled, throwing Godric off balance.  Godric snarled at her, trying to kick her away as he held on to Eric.  He was gripping so hard his fingers were piercing Eric's skin.

Eric felt like he was going to rip in two as his Maker and the demon played tug-o-war with him.  He could feel blood streaming down his sides where Godric's fingers pushed into his flesh, hooking onto his hip bones for a better hold on him. 

His face was close to the mermaid’s; her breath stank of fish and dried seaweed.  She turned her head slightly, her ugly purple lips revealing her rows of teeth.  Eric pushed himself forwards and sank his fangs into her neck.

Her blood was utterly disgusting, but it worked.  She shrieked and let him go. 

Eric grimaced, struggling against Godric's hands.  “Godric, stop!”

Godric withdrew his fingers and the mermaid realised his hands were free.  She let go before he could grab her by the neck.  They both disappeared under the water.

Eric stood up slowly, rubbing his hips, but the wounds Godric had made were already healing. “I see why they’re demons.”

“They are capricious by nature.”  Godric picked up the pearl and held it out to Eric.  “But if offered the right tribute, they make excellent allies.”

“Next time you plan on introducing me to some _thing_ , please ask it to not kill me first,” Eric said dryly as they climbed back to the sand.  Godric just laughed.

“Eric!”

They looked up and saw Tasoula standing at the top of the beach.  She waved excitedly and then came running down to meet them.  Eric blinked and suddenly she was right beside him. 

Tasoula smiled at him coyly and slid her arms around his waist.  “Did you miss me?” she cooed.

Eric wondered if the mermaid had hurt him somehow.  _Since when can a human move as fast as a vampire_?

He bent to give her a cursory kiss, but paused, frowning.  _She smells... different_.  His fangs lengthened.  _Irresistible_. 

She giggled, pressing against him, evidently not minding that he was rather wet.  She grinned at Godric.  “Panos was looking for you.”

Godric stepped closer, his fangs extending to brush against her skin as his mouth moved from her bare shoulder up to her mouth.  Tasoula shivered, twisting toward him and his eyes caught hers.  She went still, her face slack. 

“Why?” he demanded harshly.  Though puzzled by Godric's behaviour, Eric thought the reason was obvious. 

But he stepped back from Tasoula when she said monotonically, “He wants your blood.  You’re older.  It will be stronger.”

Eric' wasn’t entirely sure he knew what she meant, but obviously Godric did.  Godric growled softly and broke her neck.  Tasoula crumpled to the ground.

“Hurry,” Godric said grimly. 

They flew back to the clearing where they’d left the other vampires.  As they grew closer, Eric could hear shrieks of pain and sizzling vampire flesh.

Godric growled again, his fangs still extended, and Eric gaped in shock.  The witches had trapped all the vampires with silver chains, nets, and knives. 

He saw Zenobia straddling Saule, who was held down by heavy silver chains.  The head witch had cut open the vampire’s wrist and was greedily sucking her blood.  Bound by the chains, Saule was helpless to stop her. 

The other vampires were held down in similar fashions, those that could were thrashing madly, while others were limp with pain. 

Witches were pressing their lips to wrists and necks, drinking and recutting the wounds if they healed over.  Their eyes were fever bright and they all smelled delicious to Eric.  _This is what humans smell like when they’ve had our blood_ , he realised, stunned. 

Eric heard a noise behind him and spun around only to have a silver net cover his head.

He roared in pain, falling to the ground as he struggled frantically to untangle the net.  There was a cracking noise and the man who had netted him fell. 

Godric was at his side, grunting in pain as he pulled at the net to help.  The net was burning Eric's face away and he could feel it sticking to his skin, burning through, blisters forming and popping quickly.

“Hold still,” Godric hissed, still trying to pull the net off and Eric could see his burned hands, his flesh sticking to the silver.

Then he saw a man sneaking up behind Godric with a silver knife raised, ready to plunge it into Godric's back.

 ** _No_**.

Eric gathered his strength and threw himself forwards.  Godric was holding the net and it slipped off as Eric slammed into the man.  He heard bones break under the force and the man struggled to use the dagger against him.

Eric grabbed his neck and snapped so hard the force nearly ripped the human’s head off.  He slumped over in pain, aware of the danger around him, but there wasn’t much more he could do until he healed.   

Godric touched his face, checking it over, anxious. 

“You’ll live,” he said.  He quickly pressed his lips to Eric's forehead and then dashed off towards Saule.

He grabbed Zenobia by the hair, very nearly scalping her as he pulled her off the vampire.  Zenobia shrieked, whirling to face him.  She lashed out, kicking him in the midsection hard enough to make Godric stumbled backwards and lose his grip on her.

Eric got to his feet, stunned.  He’d never seen _anyone_ hurt Godric, didn’t even think it was possible.  He stepped forward to help his Maker, but paused.

 _We’re outnumbered by the witches_ , Eric realised, _and Godric and I are the only ones at full strength_. 

It had been over a hundred years since he’d been in a battle, but Eric found it surprisingly easy to slip into a mindset that had once been familiar.  Several witches lunged for him, forsaking their two vampire prizes.  He moved faster than a human eye could see, mercilessly killing them all with his hands and teeth. 

He bent to free Raja and Mary.

Raja groaned as he sat up.  “Take the rest alive,” he growled after his throat healed, watching Zenobia and Godric fight.  “We’ll make them suffer for this indignity.”

Mary growled in agreement.  They got to their feet, wincing, but were both older than Eric and able to heal within seconds. 

They darted off, snarling angrily as they began rendering the humans unconscious.  Three freed vampires turned to four, then five and then six.  The humans kept piling up as well. Eric walked among them, stomping on their feet, breaking all the bones to prevent the humans from running.  

Eric heard a shriek and spun around.  He’d only seen a few vampires die, but the wet, exploding noise was distinct.  Mary screamed in horror and ran over to the mess, dropping to her knees, tears rolling down her cheeks.

 Raja tackled the warlock responsible, ripping him limb from limb.

Mary hunched over, sobbing.  Eric shuddered, full of pity for the orphaned Mary.  She was barely older than him, and had spent the past few nights with her Maker for the first time in forty years. 

“Her Maker is truly dead,” Godric said softly, coming up beside him.  If he felt anything about it, it didn’t show.  Eric relaxed slightly, relieved Godric was safe. 

Saule was holding Zenobia by the neck.

“Did you genuinely think that you could steal our sacred blood,” Saule snarled, her eyes blazing, “and live?”

Zenobia thrashed, her lips moving, gasping words in a language Eric didn’t understand.  A red glow formed beside her, radiating heat.  Saule stared at it in shock. 

Godric bolted forward and ripped out Zenobia’s spine.  She twitched for a few minutes before dying.  The red light faded with her.

“I was questioning her!”  Saule scowled at the corpse, but she sounded petulant instead of angry. 

Godric gave her a scornful glare.  “Did you not think she would defend herself with magic?”

“Rip out their tongues,” Eric ordered quickly, glancing over the remaining witches.  Save Mary, all the vampires complied.  The pain woke the witches and Eric discovered that it was possible, though apparently difficult, for humans to scream without their tongues.  The vampires prowled around them, dragging the odd witch upright if they fell back, choking on their own blood. 

Another vampire came forward.  “My Lady,” he said, though he glanced at Godric too, “these aren’t all the witches.”

With a quick sideways glance at Godric, Saule said, “Search the island.  Find them all.”  Then she glanced at Eric.  “Burn their houses and kill their families as they flee.”

The humans shrieked in protest and fear, but the vampires obeyed.  Saule narrowed her eyes.  “That includes you, Mary.” 

Mary got to her feet sadly and followed, reluctantly leaving the remains of her Maker.  Indicating for Eric to join the search, Godric stayed with Saule to kill the captive witches.  Eric watched as Godric smiled coldly down at the doomed humans and turned away.  Godric's lust for killing had never changed.     

As Eric went back down to the beach to search, he could hear screams and smell fire already.  _Come dawn, there will be no-one left alive on this island_.  After seeing the vampires helpless against the humans drinking their blood, he didn’t think that a bad thing.  His own skin still stung.

He was surprisingly undisturbed by how easy it had been torturing and killing all those people.  It felt justified somehow.

Back on the cold sand, he looked out to the dark sea, trying to imagine what it must look like during the day.  He was tempted to wade in the water, but the possible threat of the mermaids stopped him.  _I have a job to do_ , he scolded himself.

He looked around and saw Diamantina just up the beach. 

Shells and stones were swirling in the air in front of her, clustering together to form the shape of three children.  Watching in amazement, he remembered earlier in the night when she’d mentioned she had three sons.

She looked up and saw Eric.  She smiled vaguely.  “Your friends have killed my children,” she said, almost absently.  She smelled intoxicatingly beautiful. He was tempted to bite her, just to find out what a human full of vampire blood tasted like.

The rocks and shells collapsed. He knelt in front of her.  “Why would you do this?” he said, running his fingers through her dark hair.  “You condemned yourself and your children.”   

She looked at him with dazed eyes.  “Have you never drunk the blood of your own kind before?” 

“Yes,” he said, remembering how powerful Godric's blood had tasted.  “Once.”

“Then you already know what it’s like.”  She smiled dreamily.  “It makes the world more beautiful than it already is.  It makes you giddy and excited, and stronger than any human could be.  Everything is strange and beautiful and swollen with possibilities.” 

He couldn’t think of anything to say to that. 

Diamantina picked up his hand and studied it, tracing over the lines.  The dying screams of the other witches didn’t seem to bother her at all.  Above the trees, dark smoke billowed, obscuring the moon. 

He was cautious.  “Reading my future?”      

“No-one can see the future,” she said, surprisingly firm.  She tapped his palm.  “But your past is right here in your hands for you to see.”

He looked at his hand, but only saw lines.  _Rip out her throat or break her neck_? 

“You had four wives and three children,” Diamantina said, distracting him.  “You wished for brothers when you were a boy.  You suspected that your third wife killed her first husband.”

Eric forgot all about killing her.  “How can you tell all that?”      

“I have magic powers.”  She gave him the playful smile that had caught his eye earlier.  “They’re always stronger when we drink the blood of your kind.” 

Eric rolled his eyes, but let her continue.  _Break her neck_ , he decided.

“You never got along with your father.  Your parents and sister were murdered.”

Eric quickly withdrew his hand.  “It was a long time ago,” he said stiffly. 

Diamantina smiled and closed her eyes.  “Not so long to you.”

Eric was reaching for her neck when she opened her eyes and lunged for him, her mouth wide open as she tried to bite his neck.  Eric growled angrily at her and twisted, kneeing her in the chest.  She fell backwards, the walls of her heart crushed.  A fatal blow, but she was would die slowly.

He stood over her, scowling, annoyed.  _I’ve been caught off guard too many times tonight_. 

In the past two hours, his life had been endangered more times than it had since Godric had turned him. 

Eric watched dispassionately as she drowned in her own blood.  Despite more blood dribbling out of her mouth, she managed to smile up at him.  He raised an eyebrow, impressed.  Not many could smile in the face of death.

“The shifters that killed your parents and sister,” Diamantina choked out, “have wandered the earth for a long time.  Their children and their children’s children always follow their master through the night.  He has your father’s crown.”

Eric froze.  “What?”

He opened his mouth to question her more, but Diamantina was already dead.  He stared down at her, still bewildered.  _Was she telling the truth_?

Godric dropped down to the ground several feet away.  “They’re all dead.  Saule is making sure their families join them in the afterlife.” 

“That’s good, I guess,” Eric said, thinking of the rage on the faces of the other vampires.  “I’ve never thought of our blood is sacred before.”

Godric nodded grimly.  “It is forbidden,” he said, glancing down at Diamantina’s corpse.  “It is too dangerous for mortals to drink from us.”

“They certainly became stronger.”  Eric smiled wryly.  “I’ve never seen anyone almost get the better of you.”

To his utmost surprise, Godric smiled brightly.  “I know.  It’s not often I have a chance to fight against anyone that rivals my strength.”

Eric snorted, his mind already returning to Diamantina’s final words.  He gazed over the sea, wondering which direction to take once they returned to the mainland.  _They’re out there.  Not the ones that killed Father, but their children live, just as I do_.  Then a darker thought, one he’d thought quelled.  _I will take back my father’s crown._

“I don’t think Saule appreciated you usurping her like that,” Eric said, hoping to rouse himself from things best left alone.

“Saule knew little about magic before tonight.”  There was no judgement in Godric's voice or his face.  “She could not have known to immediately kill the head witch.  But she is grateful for our quick thinking.  Should she ever encounter witches again, she’ll know better.” 

“Seems stupid to have come here without knowing anything about them.”

“She didn’t realise these witches were so dangerous.”  Godric shrugged.  “She is not to blame.  None of us saw the danger.” 

Eric glanced up at the sky.  “Let’s go find someplace to rest.”  _Sleep will keep the dark thoughts away_.  “It’s close enough to dawn.

They found a suitable spot away from the burned houses and bodies.  Eric sat on the edge of his hole, swinging his legs absently.  If he got in now, he wouldn’t be able to sleep until the sun rose.  He’d just be buried with his thoughts, a horrible prospect.

Godric sat down beside him and picked up his hand.  Eric looked at him, surprised.

“I heard what she said to you,” Godric said, stroking the back of Eric's hand.  “About your father’s crown.”  He sighed.  “You still want your revenge.” 

Eric didn’t answer.  He heard the screams of his family while he dallied with some girl, making him too slow to save his mother and sister.  In less than five minutes, his family had died, yet those few minutes were seared into his mind, crystal clear despite all this time.

Finally he growled, “Those creatures killed my family.  I want them to know, want them to _see_ me before my fangs rip their throats out.”  The reason was savage and illogical, and that made it all the stronger.

“The ones responsible for the deaths of your parents and sister are long dead,” Godric reminded him gently.  “Why punish those that know nothing of your family?”

Everything Godric said was perfectly logical and he saw the sense in them.  Somehow it didn’t matter that they weren’t directly responsible... he just wanted others to suffer as he had.   

 _It makes **no** sense_ , Eric thought angrily.  _The pain of losing my children faded.  I can think of them fondly and not cry for them.  But my heart turns hard when I think of my parents and sister, and all I want is to avenge them._ Thinking of them now made his fangs lengthen.  _It makes me want to kill innocent people..._

“How did you make your humanity go away?” Eric asked abruptly, his voice bitter.  Godric's hand paused. 

“My humanity died quickly on its own.  I had no need for it.”  Godric studied Eric's face.  “But you wanted to keep yours?”

“It’s done nothing but bring me pain,” he said angrily.  “Maybe I was stupid to want to keep it.” 

“Your desire for revenge will keep you connected to your humanity,” Godric said.  “Can you let that go?”

Eric closed his eyes.

 

_It’s not wrong to enjoy my life._

_You have no sense of responsibility._

_Can we talk about this later?_

_Eric, grow up.  You can’t spend your life between a woman’s legs._

_I can try._

_Get back here.  Your place is with me!_

_All you want me to do is follow you around!_

_I want you to learn to be king!_

_I will!  Tomorrow!_

 

He forced himself to see the truth.  His father had not given his title to a man worthy of it, but a selfish, spoiled brat. 

 

_You are king._

_No.  I won’t allow it.  Help!_

_You know what to do._

_Yes._

_Vengeance..._

_Vengeance._

 

His final promise to his father had become the last of the many disappointments.  _If Godric is right, then my father is past caring that I failed him yet again.  But I’m not.  I **want** to keep my word_.

“No,” he said, wearily opening his eyes.  “Not until the wolves with the mark are wiped off the face of the earth.”

“But it isn’t the wolves, is it?” Godric said.  “It’s the master.”

“Yes,” Eric said, surprised by Godric's perceptiveness.  “The master.  He stole my father’s crown while he still had breath.” 

His mind drifted to his mother and sister.  Astrid looked so beautiful whenever she held her daughter.  Too many times he’d sat beside her after she’d miscarried or had to hold her hand while she buried another infant only days old.  Again she’d been cheated of another child.

His father robbed of his crown.  His mother robbed of her daughter.  His sister robbed of her life.

 

_You know what to do._

_Yes._

_Vengeance..._

_Vengeance._

 

 _It will never happen_ , Eric told himself sternly, forcing back tears.  _Just accept it_.

His Maker stroked his face and Eric leaned into the caress.  This tumultuous night proving to be the exception, Godric rarely touched him and Eric never touched him first.  Perhaps it was because Godric was his Maker, for Eric always felt calmer whenever Godric touched him. 

Then Godric's next words left him dizzy with horror.

“I have nothing more to teach you, my Child.  You might not use everything I have taught you, but that is your choice.  You can survive on your own,” Godric said softly.  “I can release you.”

It was that same feeling of ripped apart horror he’d had when his parents died.  Eric swallowed, hoping he’d misheard.  He looked at Godric's face, wanting to see his mischievous smile, but he was only solemn.

“No” he whispered, drawing away from Godric's hand. 

“I’m offering you your freedom,” Godric said slowly, “and you don’t want it?”

Eric shook his head.

“But... _why_?” Godric said.  He was bewildered.  “I was not with my Maker for as long as we have been.”

“Mastery and freedom are what you value, Godric.  I value my family.”  Eric hoped Godric could understand what he meant.  “I don’t want to lose you.” 

Godric stared at him.  “I’ve upset you.”

 _Can’t you see that you’re all I have?_ Eric's voice trembled.  “Godric, don’t do it.”

Godric looked away.  Eric watched Godric's expressionless face for a few seconds, wanting to see some clue, but there was nothing.  He bowed his head.

The silence between them was awful to Eric.  Too many dark thoughts swirled through his head, so he pulled out the macramé bracelet he’d been working on, focusing solely on it.  But then the final knot was done.

Godric narrowed his eyes when Eric picked up his wrist, an expected response, but he relaxed when Eric tied the knotted bracelet around it.  Godric smiled at the gift, running his fingers over it as he studied the shells and rocks. 

“It’s beautiful,” Godric said softly.  _If it’s to be the final gift_ , Eric thought, _I should have done a better job of it_.

Godric looked up.  “We will find your father’s crown.”

Eric's eyes widened.  “We?” he repeated.

His Maker nodded.  “I promise I will help you.”

“Thank you.”  Eric flung his arms around his Maker.  For the first time in a hundred and thirty five years, Godric didn’t flinch away.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Autumn. 1081 AD. Iran.**

 

Godric slowly lifted his hand and ran it down the cat's back.  The cat arched back, purring as Godric raked his dirty nails through the thick fur, over and over.  He stopped, his hand hovering.  He waited to see what the animal would do.

"I think she likes that," Eric commented when the cat butted Godric's hand, wanting more attention.

"Why wouldn't she?" Godric said, obliging the demanding animal.  He smiled as it purred loudly.  "It feels bewitching.  I like it."

 "Really?"  Eric raised an eyebrow.  He hadn't known that.

Abruptly, the cat jumped up and bolted off.  Godric watched it go, and then turned back to Eric, smiling.  "Yes, really."

Eric reached out and ran his fingers down Godric's back, letting his nails press just hard enough to leave faint pink lines.  They disappeared just as quickly as they appeared.

Godric tensed slightly, but when Eric ran his fingers back up to the base of his neck, gently this time, smoothing over the now nonexistent lines, he relaxed.

 Amused, Eric continued, fingers up and down for awhile, and then he began running his fingers over the black lines of the serpent tattoo on Godric's back.  He smiled when Godric closed his eyes, sighing in pleasure.  _Bewitching indeed_. 

But when Eric ran a finger over the red mark on his back, Godric's eyes flew open.  He whipped around, grabbed Eric's wrist and snapped the bone with one hand.   Eric cried out in surprise and pain. 

Godric bared his fangs.  "Do not do that," he hissed angrily.

"You could have just said so."  Eric jerked back his arm, scowling, his own fangs sliding down in anger.  "You didn't have to break my arm over it!" 

His Maker seemed surprised by his own vehemence and let him go, his fangs retracting.

 "I'm sorry," he said after a minute.  He looked at Eric's broken arm, and then carefully adjusted it into place, glancing at Eric's face when he winced.  Now in the right position, it healed quickly.  Eric continued to scowl at him.

"I just..." Godric seldom struggled for words, but he did now.  "I just... do not like being touched there."

"Obviously!"

Godric shrugged, drawing his legs up to rest his chin on his knees.  "It is something from my human life that I hate being reminded of."

The unexpected explanation cooled Eric's anger a bit and his fangs disappeared too.  He stretched out on his stomach, stung at the abrupt rejection of something he'd done out of affection.

He blinked in surprise when Godric began running his fingers through his hair.  He enjoyed it for a few minutes before glancing back at him.

Godric smiled at him.  "You think I am blind to this sort of thing?"

In response, Eric tilted his head to the side to guide Godric's fingertips to another part of his scalp.

Godric scratched harder, ruffling Eric's long blonde hair.  "I **am** sorry, my Child," he said gently.

Eric looked at him.  "I won't touch it again."

He would scratch Godric's back nearly every night after that, but he never touched the red mark again.

 

...

 

"They're awake."

Eric wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there holding Godric's severed hand, but Pam's voice snapped him out of his trance. 

She looked at the hand, the tattooed skin, and then back to his dazed face.  "Do you want me to question them?" 

"No.  I will."  His fangs slid out.

Pam took the hand from him.  Using a serviette, she carefully removed the silver ring.  To their surprise, the skin healed within seconds.  If a bloodless, severed hand healed so quickly, it was likely that wherever he was, Godric still retained his ancient strength.  It was a promising sign.  Possibly.

Eric hesitated, glancing at the door that led to the dungeon.  He closed his eyes. 

He was well aware that when it came to Godric's wellbeing, he acted rashly and violently.  Right now, he wanted to kill the three werewolves as painfully as possible.  He could practically hear Godric chiding him, _"And what would be achieved if you killed them without finding out what they know?"_

 _Plus I’d just be a hypocrite_.  When he opened them again, he was calmer. 

Even to his ears, his shoes clicked ominously as he walked into the dark basement.  The big male and the female had been strapped down onto separate tables set up side by side, her feet by his head.  They thrashed furiously, trying to break free.  The remaining wolf, the teenager, was still out cold, chained up in a cage. 

Eric stood over the tables.  They both went still, staring at him with wide, terrified eyes.  He looked down at the man contemptuously, roughly pushing his head to the side.  He scowled at the brand on his thick neck. 

“A thousand years later and you fuckers are still making my life hell.”  Eric jerked his head again and glared at him.  "Let's make this quick, shall we? Where is he being held?"

Perhaps there was something wrong with his upfront approach, because the man shook his head.  "I'm not telling you anything!"

Eric pushed his thumb into the werewolf's right eye and it popped like a yellow grape.  He kept his hand steady as the man thrashed frantically in pain.  Across the room, Pam smiled icily as he screamed.

When just a pulpy mess was left, Eric wiped his hand on his pants.  "We'll try again.  Where is he being held?"  He waited.  " **Well?** "    

He was a little surprised and extremely annoyed that all the response he got was a defiant, "Fuck you."

Eric picked up his left hand, inspecting it.  No wedding band.  Pity, no-one he could threaten to go after.  Again he could practically hear Godric scolding, _"Eric, watch your temper."_

_Fuck it._

He ripped off three of the werewolf's fingers, tossing them onto the stomach of the female.  They rolled slightly before settling in the curve of her belly, blood pooling in her navel. 

As the male screamed, Eric paid more attention to the woman.  Werewolf blood did not appeal to him; if she'd been fully human, his mouth would have been watering, the scent of her fear was so intense. 

"Do I need to ask again?"  He spoke to the man, but his eyes were on the woman.

Eric moved between them, the male on his left and the female on his right.  He ran his hand down man's legs.  The woman gasped his horror when Eric tugged on the man's foot warningly as he waited for an answer.  He pulled a little harder and the skin started ripping, blood trickling over his hand. 

"Mississippi!" she screeched, looking at his hand resting on the foot just a few inches from her head.  "In Russell Edgington's house!"

Eric pulled off the werewolf's foot, spraying them both with blood, flinging it across the room, and turned to the more talkative female.  The foot landed in the corner of the room with a dull thud.  She whimpered under his furious glare, too frightened to look back at the howling man.

"He just showed up after Russell vanished," she cried, tears rolling down her cheeks.  "Please don't hurt me."

"What's your name?" Eric asked, making an effort to sound less threatening, pleasant even.  Behind him, the footless man continued to scream. 

She sniffled.  "Kelly."

"I won't hurt you, Kelly," Eric said when the man stopped screaming.  He'd be conscious for maybe another two minutes, dead probably three minutes after that.  _Blood loss is tricky like that_.

"What is the security like around him?" 

"We're guarding him."  Kelly whimpered again.  "And he's chained up with silver." 

 _Well, that isn’t much of a surprise.  Probably not much of a challenge either_. 

 "And the other vampires?" he prompted, getting tired of her tears.  She kept hiccupping and it was making her difficult to understand.  He ran his fingernails up the woman's arm.  In any other situation, it might have been a pleasurable sensation, but right now, he suspected it was more akin to spiders crawling over her skin.

"They've all gone.  I don't know where they went."

Russell's house was abandoned then.  Sophie-Anne had already taken control of Russell's estate, but had returned to her own house in New Orleans.  She may have moved them to her manor, or sent them packing.   

"When did he arrive?"  To stop himself from throttling the answers out of her, Eric dug his fingers deep into the male's shoulder, but he was too close to death to respond.  Kelly cried as her companion's bones cracked.  He saw an engagement ring on her finger and wondered who had given it to her. 

"He... he was just there.  We found him in the slave quarters, all tied up.  Right after Russell disappeared."  She struggled feebly.  "We just thought that Russell had left him there for us while he was gone.  He's done that before.  _Please_ don't hurt me."

"I already told you that I wouldn't hurt you," he said irritably. Eric realised that he could hate Russell even more than he already did.  _Sacrificing other vampires for these mangy mutts?_  

"Will they be expecting me to come there?"

"I don't think so.  We thought you'd just help us get Russell back."

"Hmmm.  What does your vampire prisoner look like?"

"A kid.  Just a kid.  Um, he has short brown hair." She was having trouble putting words together.  "He's got some ink, arm bands and necklace-y one and some on his...um... "

Until then, Eric had hoped he was wrong.  As much as he loved his Maker, he didn’t want Godric to be alive and suffering.  But her description was too accurate.

"Do you know the name of the vampire the hand belongs to Kelly?" he interrupted.

"No.  He hasn't said anything."

Eric ran his fingers up her arm and she trembled.  "Who removed it?"

She was just full of information and none of it endeared him to her.  "Shane picked the hand.  We just figured that you'd try to help him by giving us Russell or something."  She looked away, ashamed.  "I chose the tattoo."

Eric narrowed his eyes.  “Why would you think I’d help him?”

Kelly looked at him, confused.  “He’s a vampire.  Why... why wouldn’t you?” 

 _Human and animal_ , Eric reminded himself.  _Of course she’d help out her own_.

On the table beside her, the big male made a faint noise.  "No!" she gasped as the werewolf went still.  "Oh god, you killed him!"  Her sobbing became a hysterical screaming that rivalled Ginger's. 

In the cage, the teenager sat up, rubbing his head.  The first thing he saw was his dead packmate, then Kelly screaming on the table, the blood all over the floor, and finally Eric smiling coldly at him. 

"Oh fuck," he whispered.

"Sums it up perfectly," Eric agreed, bending down beside the cage, and the boy shrank back.  "Tell me your name."

"Um," the boy stammered.  "Um, um, um... Ryan.  Ryan Hanson."  Ryan had gotten as far away from Eric as the chain around his neck would let him. 

"Well Ryan Hanson, if you prove useful to me, you might live longer."  Eric had bent down low enough so he was able to look Ryan straight in the eye, even though glamouring didn't always work on shape shifters.  _Easier just to threaten them._   _And Ryan looks pretty threatened_. 

"Tell me how many wolves came with you tonight."

Ryan looked at him in terror.  "It was just us.  Shane figured you'd know where Russell had gone.  Nobody else knew we were sneaking off."

"Shane is the one now missing his foot?"

Shane's blood covered the floor; a grim river of red had entered the cage.  Ryan touched the blood tentatively and then looked at the dead werewolf.  "I can't believe you killed him," he said.

"Believe it, Ryan.  He wasn't helping me and so I killed him." He motioned to the still screaming Kelly.  "Kelly was more useful and she's still alive."

Ryan swallowed nervously, struggling to meet Eric's fearsome gaze.  He was trembling badly.  "What do you want to know?"

"How many wolves are at Russell's house?"

"Ten stay close to the slave quarters.  The others just come back when they want to get some V," he said after thinking for a moment.  "So... maybe forty?"

"And they've all been taking this vampire's blood?"

"Yes." 

With Godric's blood running through them, they'd be incredibly strong, though that would depend on how much they'd taken.  If there were forty werewolves, they'd have to be sharing very nicely amongst themselves.  The animals had been very strong after drinking just a tiny amount of Russell's blood, but Eric didn't doubt that they would have taken a lot more from Godric.

"When did you last drink from him?"

The boy grimaced, already knowing that his answer might end his life.  "Two days ago."

Kelly abruptly stopped her screaming.  A lucky break for Ryan as Eric became distracted enough by the sudden silence to stop from ripping Ryan's head off.  That would have just added to the mess and Ryan might still prove useful.

"Forty werewolves on V around Russell's house," Pam surmised from the corner of the room.  "With Godric chained up."  She crinkled her nose.  "Too easy."

Eric looked back to Ryan.  "She has a point."  He smiled, making sure the boy could see his fangs.  "Is there something you're not telling us Ryan?"

Ryan shrugged helplessly.  "No!"

Eric considered all the information he had so far.  He already knew the layout of Russell's house and knew exactly where the slave quarters were located.  He knew how many werewolves there were and he knew how dangerous they were.  But none of these answers explained how Godric had arrived there.

"Who brought Godric to Russell's house?

The boy blinked.  "Who's Godric?"

Eric reached through the bars, snarling furiously, fully intending to rip the boy's leg off.  The boy was shrieking something and Eric had to force himself to pay attention.   

"I don't know!  I don't know, he was just...  He was just... there."

Same thing Kelly had said.  _But **someone** must have put him there_.

Russell had said something to Bill. 

 

_He is the one who is mad.  Speaking to phantoms._

 

Filled with dread, Eric stood up slowly.  _How had he known?_

 

_You will regret this._

_Maybe. But right now it feels fucking good._

 

Russell knew.  Russell had planned this; he did it, or he'd organised for someone to do this in case anything happened to him.  _He's brought Godric back somehow_.

Pam grabbed him by the arm and spun him around to look at her.  "Eric," she said sharply.  Shaken out of his thoughts, he gave her a confused look. 

She pushed him towards the stairs.  "Go clean up the other wolf upstairs.  I'll finish up down here."

She went back over to Kelly, and Eric heard her fangs snick out. 

He walked up the stairs and Kelly cried out.  "No, wait, you said you wouldn't hurt me!"

"I said _I_ wouldn't hurt you," Eric said dispassionately, not bothering to look back.  "I didn't say anything about Pam hurting you."  He shut the door behind him.

Eric felt weariness tug at him.  The sun would be up soon.  His shoulders slumped, and he knew he wouldn't be able to fight it off today.  He tried to focus, willing his feet to obey his muddled mind.

He sat at a table, staring at the hand and the tattooed skin.  He reached out and traced over the black lines with his fingertip, just as he use to.  For centuries, just before daybreak, he had touched this tattoo, following the pattern just as he was now.  Eric closed his eyes, remembering, his fingers still running over the tattoo, perfectly following the lines. 

The sun was up.

He opened his eyes and found Pam watching him.  He lifted his head.

"I killed the girl," she said bluntly.  "I let the one in the cage live.  For now."  She glanced over at the remains of the werewolf, her ruined shoes beside his head.  "I see you cleaned up." 

 Eric just nodded, not really hearing her, his fingers still moving over the lines of the tattoo.  Pam continued to watch him, her lips pursed. 

She touched the bit of skin that had part of the red brand tattoo on it.  Instantly, Eric brought his hand down on her wrist, crushing the bones.  She shrieked in pain. 

 _A thousand years later, and it's still ingrained in me to never touch the red brand on Godric's skin_.  He looked at her in alarm, realising what he'd done.  "Pam, I'm sorry, I just-"

"Buy me something really expensive tomorrow to make up for it," she interrupted, pulling her arm back painfully.  " _Really_ expensive." 

Now that he was paying attention, she asked him flat out:  "Are we sure it's actually him?"

_You will regret this._

_You make me bleed, my child._

"It's Godric."

She frowned.  "Do you think Sophie-Anne was involved somehow?"

It hadn't occurred to him that Sophie-Anne might be involved.  It was possible; the vapid Queen knew a fair bit about supernatural creatures, though Eric didn't credit her with enough knowledge of magic to know a spell that could bring a dead vampire back to life. 

 _She’s extremely manipulative, true, but I can’t see what she would gain by having two vampires in her queendom that are older than she is_.

"I think it was Russell alone," he said slowly.  "He's older, smarter... angrier."

"But how?"

He watched as her wrist mended.  "I have absolutely no idea."  She was right; it would have to be something expensive.   "I've never heard of anything like it."

“Something must have gone wrong.”  She flexed her hand, testing.  "It should be impossible."

"I know."  He looked back down at the severed hand.  “I didn’t see.... he commanded me to leave.”

Pam stared at the hand too, frowning thoughtfully.  "Okay.  You sleep, I'll organise.  We'll go at sunset."

He looked back down at the hand.  Pam pulled him away from the grim mementos, and he protested, reaching out to touch them again.

"No," she said gently.  "Wait for him."

 

...

 

**Winter.  1845 AD.  Spain.**

 

Eric propped himself up and ran a finger along Godric's back, over one black line and then the next.  By now it was a centuries old ritual between them, but it was still as comforting as ever.  Sighing softly, Godric smiled, sleepy and content.

Even though he knew the answer, he leaned over to whisper in his Maker's ear.  "You like that?"

Godric's body shook as he chuckled.  He lifted his head slowly, his messy hair hanging in front of his eyes.  He flicked it back and gently kissed the corner of Eric's smiling mouth.  He let his forehead rest against Eric's.

"I could not get to sleep if you did not run your fingers over me, my Child."

As Godric pressed up against him, Eric marvelled at how calm and happy his Maker was.

 


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Late autumn. 1102 AD. Himalayas.**

 

It was a brilliant contrast to the monasteries Eric had seen in Europe.  So much colour here, beautiful red, yellow, and blue tapestries and brightly painted statues.  He bent down beside another statue of an elephant god.  He’d seen his first elephant only a few years ago.  He found them to be remarkable creatures – Godric loved pitting his strength against the huge animals – but he wasn’t sure he’d worship them. 

They’d heard about the emptied monastery in a village several miles down the mountain.  Cholera had killed all the monks a month or so ago, and so the two vampires had come up to explore and hopefully find a nice resting place.  Though no-one was willing to venture up this high at this time of year, Eric was surprised that opportunistic thieves hadn’t sacked the place of its riches.  He pushed a door open and discovered a windowless room.  Eric smiled. 

“I think you’ll like this room, Godric,” he called over his shoulder.

Godric appeared, peering around him curiously and Eric's smile widened when Godric's face lit up in delight.  The room was filled with books and scrolls.  Eric didn’t doubt for a second that Godric would spend most of his time reading everything in here. 

Sure enough, Godric went in and began searching through the scrolls.  Finding one he liked, he sat down on the floor and began reading.  Eric watched him for a few minutes, surprised as Godric began to use his finger to follow the words.

“Can’t you read this language?”

“I haven’t been in this land in hundreds of years so I haven’t read it in a long, long time.” Godric glanced up and suddenly his voice became even softer.  “It’s changed a little.  Languages always do.”

Though the odd tone in Godric's voice made him curious, Eric marvelled at the idea of being older than a language.  _If I’m as careful as Godric, perhaps I’ll found out what it’s like_.

He moved around the room, admiring the riches.  Eric studied a statue of a fearsome looking goddess wearing a skirt made of arms and a garland of human heads.  Looking at the offerings of incense, flowers, and sweet smelling oils at her feet, Eric wondered if such dainty tributes appeased her.  _Given her how grisly she is, I think the bodies of slain enemies would please her more_.  He noticed the statue had fangs and it made him wonder.

He started looking through the books and grimaced.  _How am I meant to learn to read this_?  When it came to speaking, reading and writing in other languages, Godric was a relentless teacher. 

Many of the books had pictures, mostly animals and some battle scenes, so at least he was able to admire those.  One book captured his interest and he held it out to show Godric. 

“Look!” he laughed.  “It’s a book on lovemaking.”

Godric didn’t even look up.  “I would not have thought you would need help with _that_.”

“I don’t,” Eric said huffily.  He flipped through the book some more, then frowned, turning one picture on its side.  “Some of these positions seem unnecessarily complicated though.”

Godric raised an eyebrow and leaned over to look at the picture.  He snickered and returned to his scroll.  “No, it’s not.  You just need to... experiment more.”

“I experiment plenty,” Eric said, affronted.  He glanced at the picture again and wondered just what Godric got up to with the men and women he went off with.  Eric would happily brag, but Godric would merely smile and say nothing of his own conquests – unless he wanted to one-up Eric.

“If you say so.” Grey eyes glittered with mischief.

“I do!”

“Oh?” Godric smirked.  “Ever been with a man?”

Eric had nothing. 

Outwitted, he fell silent.  He had never been with a man, but Eric preferred the sweet, soft bodies of women. 

He’d indulged some women by sharing them with another man at the same time, but he’d never touched the other man.  He’d been thoroughly insulted once; a woman he’d been sharing had suggested the two men couple in front of her, and while Eric dubiously considered her request, the other man had declared that he, ‘ _Didn’t find Eric pleasing enough to do so._ ’ 

Eric had left that encounter _seething_ that a man would not find him attractive.  Of course, when he’d told Godric, his Maker had doubled over with laughter. 

Still sulking, Eric left the room to continue exploring the monastery.    

There were decorations all through the halls and larger holy rooms, statues, paintings and tapestries depicting scenes from the people’s mythologies.  Some had fierce battles and others had benevolent holy men.  Many of the figures were blue; Eric wondered if they were meant to be demons.

As he continued through the rooms, he began to frown.  All the rooms had windows.  He couldn’t find a cellar either.  _Perhaps coming up here was a waste of time_.  When they’d heard of the monastery, Eric had insisted they search it for a cellar.  The weather was chilly and sleeping in the cold earth wasn’t comfortable.  The library appeared to be the only windowless room, but it was above the ground.  Too dangerous. 

He went into another room and stopped, awed.  There was a beautiful bed with a feather mattress, covered with pillows and silken sheets.  The sleeping quarters only held simple pallets.  _For important guests_ , he thought, touching the silk sheets longingly. 

It had been decades since he’d slept in a proper bed, and even then it had just been a straw mattress.   For a vampire, the options tended to be limited to a cramped cellar, a damp cave, or sleeping naked in the earth, even in a nest.

_The library will be safe enough_ , he decided impulsively, going against all of Godric's warnings about sleeping above ground.  He pulled the sheets, pillows and mattress off the frame and began dragging it out the door.  Despite his inhuman strength, it was heavy and it was difficult manoeuvring it through the hallways. 

The noise attracted Godric's attention and he appeared at the top of the stairs, frowning suspiciously.

“What are you doing?”

“There isn’t a cellar and all the other rooms have windows.”

“Then we’ll sleep in the ground.”

Eric stared at his Maker incredulously.  “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve found a bed.  I want to sleep in it.”

Godric narrowed his eyes, clearly disapproving. Eric raised his chin defiantly.  _He probably hasn’t even slept in a bed in centuries_. 

“Stop staring like a stupid sheep and make yourself useful by helping me carry this to the library.”

Godric's face darkened, but came down to help.  With Godric's help, it was in the library within seconds.  Godric pushed it into the middle of the room while Eric went back for the mattress. 

Godric had returned to the books by the time Eric came back and didn’t offer to help Eric make the bed.  Eric was tempted to kick him for being so obnoxious.  _He can sleep in the dirt by himself then_.

After taking off his boots, Eric lay back, delighted that the bed was big enough for him to stretch out.  _Being so tall isn’t always a good thing_ , he mused as his toes wiggled several inches from the end of the mattress.  He sighed happily, listening to the howling mountain wind that had picked up in the past hour. 

As dawn approached, Godric gave him two books.  Eric opened them; one was written in Greek and the other was in Hindi.  He smiled, remembering when he’d once told Godric, ‘ _The only words needed are the ones that will get a woman naked_.’ 

But he hadn’t thought of his Maker's quirked sense of humour when Godric had obligingly taught him a few phrases that would ‘assuredly’ win a woman over.  Only after Eric had received a vicious slap to the face by an outraged woman, did Godric admit that he’d taught Eric to say, ‘ _I love a woman with a hairy chin, sagging breasts and fat thighs._ ’

“It’s a translation.”  Leaning against the bed, Godric began raking his cold fingers through Eric's hair.  “You can practice your writing.”

Eric tilted his head, skimming through them.  “What’s it about?”

“A king called Rama and Sita, his queen.”  Godric's fingers dug deep and Eric sighed in pleasure, closing his eyes.  He let the books drop to the floor.  Godric's hands gently moved over Eric's head, his nails carefully scratching his scalp through his blonde hair.  Eric felt himself relaxing all over. 

“We could spend the winter here, couldn’t we?”  Eric sighed wistfully as Godric began to rub his temples.  “No humans will try to climb through the mountain passes, but we can fly down to the villages to feed.”

Godric's hands fell away and Eric immediately missed their soothing touch.

“You would risk your life by sleeping in an exposed spot and spend the winter on a snow covered mountain, all for a _bed_?”

“Why not?  There’s no harm.”  Eric lifted his head to look at him.  “Besides, when was the last time you slept in a bed like this?” 

Instantly, Eric realised he’d said the wrong thing.  There were _many_ things that could go wrong:  with so many windows letting in sunlight, if they were caught during the day, there was little chance of escape, and if the winter was particularly bad, they might not be able to fly down to one of the villages to feed. 

“You should know better.”  Godric's voice was cold.

“You want to read all these books, don’t you?” Eric said quickly.  “Please, Godric?”

“Do **not** beg me like a human, Eric.”

Eric fell silent.  There was no point pushing his Maker any further.  Godric’s eyes roamed the room, but his blank face revealed nothing.  Slowly, he bent to pick the dropped books up and set them on a small table.

“You wanted to go south to the jungles,” Godric said after a moment, his back to Eric. 

Eric shrugged.  “They’ll still be there when winter is over.”

As Godric's silence stretched out, Eric braced himself for disappointment.  _I wonder if any human comforts interest him anymore.  He only seems to care about their books and their bodies_. 

 “Nevermind, Godric.”  He was unable to keep the glumness out of his voice.

“No,” Godric said softly.  His Maker turned to face him.  “As you wish, my Child.  We can spend the winter here.”  Though he looked the bed over, clearly reluctant about his decision. 

“Thank you!”  Eric gently pulled on his hand, coaxing him onto the bed.  Godric resisted, shaking his head.  Eric stared at him, confused, and then wondered if Godric had slept above ground since he’d been turned.  _Surely he has_... 

Eric sat up.  “How am I meant to touch your back if you’re not in the bed with me?” 

Godric smiled faintly, but didn’t move.  “It doesn’t matter.”

“Well, it matters to me.”  Impatient, Eric motioned for him to take off his shirt and lie on the bed.  This had been their custom for the past twenty years, and it still brought a smile to his lips to see Godric relax beneath his fingers.

Godric stared at him, almost resentfully, but then gingerly climbed onto the bed and took off his shirt.  He lay down on his stomach and Eric ran a fingertip over his strong arms as he waited for Godric to settle down.

Careful not to touch Godric's right shoulder, Eric used his palms and fingers to try easing the tension of out his body.  Godric remained cagey, his face troubled.  Eric leaned over.

“We’ll be safe, Godric,” he whispered into his Maker’s ear.  “We _will_.”  He ran his fingers down Godric's back and then upwards with the palm of his hand, soothing over the skin.  “We’ll be together and we’ll be safe.”

Godric looked at him, but Eric couldn’t read the expression on his face.  Then he finally relaxed.  Eric smiled, relieved as Godric closed his eyes.  His hands continued moving over Godric's back and he could feel the tautness leave.

As his hands began to slow, Eric realised just how cold his Maker's skin was.  Having a Godric shaped icicle brush up against him while asleep would be a sure fire way to jolt him awake.  A fire would have been nice, but that wasn’t possible when surrounded by all the books.  Eric sighed.  “Why is you skin always so cold?”

“Death is always cold in the end,” Godric murmured.  A typical response.  _Sometimes he is truly exasperating_.   

Rolling his eyes, Eric just pulled a blanket over Godric's shoulder, and wished that his Maker wasn’t so indifferent to the elements. 

Godric didn’t move, but Eric wasn’t sure if he was asleep.  He ran his fingertips over the open palm of Godric's hand, staring up at the ceiling.  Taking advantage of being able to enjoy a large, soft bed, Eric lay awake as the sun rose.  Despite his body protesting, he was able to ignore it, and his mind began to drift, though much to his chagrin, they were not pleasant thoughts.

He’d had no luck finding the wolves or their master.  _Assuming it’s even the same man_.  For the first few years, he and Godric had sought out other shape-shifters throughout Europe and the Middle East, but none of them had seen or heard of this group.  Eric had tried asking demons, but their answers were just unsolvable riddles – or they tried to kill the two vampires. 

Each failure made him angrier, more frustrated, and worse, Eric was once more becoming grimly resigned to the idea of never finding them.  If Godric shared these thoughts, he said nothing of it. 

He would listen as Eric ranted unhappily after each dead end, silent because there were no words to console his despairing Child.

Wanting the black thoughts to leave, Eric shifted restlessly, feeling blood begin to run from his eyes, but he’d upset himself too much to go to sleep easily.  _Damn, damn, **damn**_. 

The wriggling movement woke Godric.  His grey eyes opened enough to see that Eric was awake and blood was trickling from Eric's eyes, nose, and ears.  Frowning sleepily, he lifted his head to slowly lick the blood off Eric's face, his hand running lightly over Eric's chest as he did so. 

Eric lay still as Godric's tongue ran gently over his face.  Despite the odd actions, Eric found it as calming as though Godric was running his fingers through his hair. 

When Eric's face was clean, Godric settled down again.  “Go to sleep, my Child,” he mumbled, his eyes shut before he even finished his sentence.

Eric reached out and pulled Godric close his chest, curving his long body around him and burrowed his face into the dark, messy hair.  He felt Godric shift, could tell he was on the verge of waking, so he ran his nails along his Maker’s arm, soothing him back to sleep.  With a soft, sleepy sigh, Godric relaxed back against him, drawing Eric's hand to his chest. 

They held that embrace for a long time after falling asleep.

 

...

 

**Mid winter. 1102 AD. Himalayas.**

 

 

The scent of blood was strong when Godric entered.  Eric wondered which family would be mourning the loss of their loved ones come morning.  He was a little surprised that Godric had fed; his Maker had spotted a snow leopard prowling around the monastery in the early hours of the night and had followed it into the whirling snow.  Evidently Godric had gone down to one of the villages after he’d satisfied his curiosity.

Eric had returned a few hours ago after going down to one of the villages to feed and bask in the attention of a beautiful woman. 

Godric saw the ink and parchment.  “Practicing your letters?” he chuckled, looking around the room for something to wipe himself down with.  The blood had soaked through, so he pulled the shirt off, leaving a dark red mess on his white skin.  “This must be the first time I’ve not had to order you to do it in days.”

Eric slid his arm over his work to hide it from Godric's eyes.  He’d made a feeble effort to write properly before, but now he was just drawing lewd pictures to amuse himself. 

Not wanting to draw attention to his lack of work, Eric got up, meaning to help, but the scent of the blood on Godric's skin was just too irresistible to pass up.  He leaned over to lick a patch of blood covered skin on Godric's shoulder.

Godric glanced sideways at him.  “Did you not feed tonight?”

“I did,” Eric nodded absently and kept gently licking up Godric's neck, “but you taste good.”

Godric snorted, but as Eric continued, he tilted his head to the side.  The taste of blood caused Eric’s fangs to lengthen, the sharp tips lightly grazing Godric's neck, dangerously close to breaking the skin.

Godric pulled away.

“You’re not controlling yourself, my Child,” he said warningly.  Eric frowned, annoyed at the scolding and because it was true.  Even after all these years, he lacked Godric's level of control.  _I’m not sure if I want to be so uptight anyway_ , he thought as he watched Godric search the room for a rag.

After spending several weeks mostly in the library, the room had gotten a little slovenly as they brought back trinkets to show the other after a night of wandering.  Godric liked to explore the mountains, while Eric liked to walk through the villages while everyone slept.

_He should have washed in the snow_ , Eric thought crossly.  Godric looked at the sheets, still pristine, and Eric growled.  “Don’t you dare.”

Irritated with Godric's lack of foresight, he grabbed Godric by the wrist and flung him onto the bed.  Landing on his back, Godric's fangs extended at the unexpected contact, but Eric ignored it.  He got on the bed, straddled his Maker, and began licking the blood off Godric's belly, his tongue sliding over the muscular abdomen. 

It took a few seconds for it to register that Godric hadn’t immediately thrown him across the room for his impertinence.  Instead, he’d propped himself up on his elbows and was watching Eric through slitted eyes, his fangs still extended.  Eric decided to continue ignoring them.

For something he saw every night, Eric found himself fascinated as he licked his way up to Godric's chest.  He’d seldom touched it before – certainly not like _this_ \- and he could feel the tenseness of the hard muscle beneath his lips. 

The blood was all but gone on Godric's chest, so when Eric lightly dragged his fangs across the cold skin, he only tasted Godric.

He gently kissed the dark, spiked line along Godric's collarbone, something he had never touched.  Godric's skin was cold, far colder than Eric's, and Eric wondered if that had to do with his age.  _Still_ Godric hadn’t thrown him off.

It made Eric bolder and he ran a hand down Godric's arm and entwined his fingers with Godric's, squeezing tight.  Godric didn’t respond at all.  But Eric was not put off and deviated from his intended path to deftly caress a nipple with his tongue, sucking gently.  Godric arched beneath him and closed his eyes.

Surprised, pleased, and excited, Eric's licks slowly transformed into soft kisses.  He was so startled by his sudden lust to notice that his mouth was moving up Godric's neck.  _I want..._

Without even realising it, his lips brushed against Godric's and Godric jerked back like he’d been burned.

Godric shoved him off and Eric hit the floor hard enough for something to crack in his shoulder. 

Rubbing his shoulder, Eric sat up, about to yell at him, but then he saw the uneasy, almost _confused_ , expression on his Maker’s face.  He paused. 

“You are only doing this because I was teasing you,” Godric said quietly, sitting up.  He swung his legs over the edge of the bed as though he was about to get up.  “You have nothing to prove to me, my Child.  Or yourself.”

Eric swallowed.  “No,” he said, his voice equally as soft, touching Godric's leg to keep him from moving.  “I want to.”  As Godric gazed at him impassively, he became uncertain.  “Do you... do you want me to stop?”

His Maker lowered his eyes and said nothing.  While he never lied to Eric, if Godric didn’t want to answer something truthfully, he remained silent.  Humiliated, Eric rose to leave the room. 

“Eric...”

Hearing the stricken tone in Godric's voice, Eric turned back.  Looking down at Godric's uneasy face, it dawned on him that if he – they – continued down this path, things would change.  Until this moment, he’d had no desire for anything to change between them.  _But now..._

Perhaps it was the calmness he felt when Godric touched him, or the decades of growing to understand his Maker’s difficult personality... _Or even the simple closeness of sharing a bed the past few weeks_...

Eric went down on one knee and offered his neck.  Godric glanced at his neck and then back to his face.  Before Godric could back away or say anything, Eric said urgently, “Bite.”

As Godric cautiously sank his fangs in, Eric realised with a stunning clarity that what he felt for Godric was something that had gone beyond friendship.  He wrapped his arms around his Maker, pulling him closer, willing him to understand. 

_You’re more than my father, my brother, and my child.  More than my friend and my comrade.  More than a lover_...

Godric suddenly jerked away, a look of astonishment on his face.  He stared at Eric, bewildered, and Eric wondered if Godric even _knew_ what being loved felt like. 

“Godric?”

Instead of answering, Godric hesitatingly tilted his head, exposing his neck.  Seeing Godric pointedly not looking at him, his jaw set in determination, Eric wondered how hard it was for his Maker to let him do this. 

Eric bit.  He closed his eyes as blood filled his mouth.

He could feel Godric's lust, which pleased him, could feel the ever present hunger for blood, which made him crave it too, could feel Godric's fading anger that Eric had dared to touch him without permission... and there was something else beyond all that. 

Godric didn’t think himself _capable_ of it – didn’t think their kind, so bloodthirsty and callous, could feel it.  It frightened him because he couldn’t control it, no matter how hard he tried and he loathed anything he couldn’t control. 

Because of this, Godric was desperately trying to convince himself that the powerful love he felt for Eric wasn’t real. 

But Eric recognised it. 

Eric withdrew his fangs, leaving it alone.  He’d felt it, even if Godric couldn’t understand it.  That was enough for him.  _For now_.

“What do you want?” Godric whispered timidly as Eric licked the small wound until it healed.  _The most formidable creature I have ever met is trembling in my arms_.

Eric cupped his Maker's face in his hands.  “You.”  The word was more of a sigh against Godric's lips.  “I want you, Godric.  All of you.”

He was surprised by the intensity of the kiss.  It sent a swift pang through him and Eric yielded up his mouth without thinking, his eyes closing.  Godric’s tongue caressed Eric’s, demanding he respond, and Eric found his hands tangled in Godric's hair refusing to let him stop, drawing him closer, as though he wanted to squeeze Godric's soul into his.

Godric bit his lip, blood welling up, and Eric gasped and captured his mouth again, tasting his own blood along with the distinct taste of Godric's mouth.

A groan lodged itself in Eric's throat and he opened his eyes and saw Godric’s savage lust in his grey eyes.  Chills ran down his spine as Godric's kisses grew even fiercer and Eric remembered just how strong Godric was.  His Maker’s hands pulled him closer, and then they rolled over so that Godric was lying atop Eric.

Godric slowed and ran his tongue over Eric's, tasting the blood a final time as the bite healed over.  He growled softly and kissed Eric so hard that Eric saw stars behind his eyelids.

Then he felt Godric's arousal hard against his own.  He lifted his hips up, grinding himself against Godric and smiled when his Maker gasped against his mouth.  He ground against him again and nipped Godric's ear at the same time, and Godric gasped even louder.

As he kissed and nibbled on Godric's ears, he lightly started tracing the outline of Godric's jaw, moving his hands down and his fingers slowly unlaced his trousers.   It took a second for Godric to realise what he’d done, but when he did, he quickly kicked them off, and now naked, pressed against Eric.

Godric began kissing Eric's neck and Eric lost himself in the sensation, one hand gripping the sheets beneath him and the other tracing lines over Godric's back, careful to avoid the small spot that Godric hated.  His hand pressed into the strong muscles, urging him on.  He couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted someone so urgently.

Godric made his way down Eric's neck and discovered that they hadn’t removed Eric's clothes yet.  Evidently not caring that this was the only shirt Eric owned at the moment, Godric ripped the shirt in two, exposing Eric's chest.  He leaned back, running a finger lightly over Eric's collarbone.  He ran his hands over Eric's chest experimentally, and then he shifted back so he could lean over, and licked the pale skin beneath him.  Eric moaned softly as Godric moved to a nipple and caught it between his teeth.  He bit down, lapping at the blood and running his tongue over him, and Eric groaned with pleasure at the exquisite pain.

As Godric bit and licked first one nipple, then the other, Eric clawed helplessly, dragging red lines of passion across his Maker’s skin that vanished as quickly as they appeared.  Godric hissed at the pain while arching his back like a cat, silently demanding that Eric do it again. Without raising his head, he gathered the shreds of Eric's shirt and pulled them behind, effectively trapping Eric's arms in the cloth.

As Eric wrestled with his bindings, Godric reached beneath his trousers to pull his cock free.  He returned his mouth to Eric's, while Eric grew dizzy with desire as Godric stroked him.

His trapped arms forgotten, Eric moaned and thought his skin would burst into flames.  He felt Godric smile against his lips and struggled to kick his trousers away.  Godric made a vague effort to help, but was more interested in other things and Eric was left to fend for himself.  When he was finally rid of his pants, Eric brought a leg up to brace himself on the mattress, pressing himself harder into Godric's hand.

Eric let his hand trail down and Godric's eyes went wide, and he groaned when Eric reached his cock.  He shivered and Eric smiled, moving his hand a little faster.  Godric's hard kisses paused, replaced by a low moan of desire.  It was a noise Eric wanted to hear again and he smiled when he did.  He pulled back, wanting to see Godric's face.

It was Godric's eyes, hazy, unfocused, and dark with passion that captivated him.  Eric kissed him fiercely, leaving his eyes open as Godric's drifted shut, and thought of Godric's constant need for self control.  _I want to see him lose all that power and be mine_.

After several minutes of intense kissing, Godric opened his eyes.  Godric turned his face, placing little kisses on the palm of Eric's hand, his grey eyes never leaving Eric's blue one.  He placed his own fingers against Eric's mouth, running over kiss swollen lips, and then the long fangs.

“In all my life, you are the most beautiful person I have ever seen,” Godric whispered.  “Everything about you is beautiful.”

Amazed by the sweet words, Eric ran his thumb over the lips of the one person he cared for more than anything in the world.  He wanted to speak the words out loud, but knew that Godric was not ready to hear them.

Godric kissed him, quickly dipped his fingers in one of the bowls of oil beside the statues, and then slid a finger inside Eric, watching his face intently. 

Eric gasped, his back arching, but it was from pleasure, not pain.  Godric kissed his stomach, moving his finger gently.  Eric moaned, lost in the sensation.  Again, Godric kissed Eric's belly lightly and added another finger, smiling when Eric gasped again. 

Eric propped himself up on his elbows and Godric leaned forward enough to kiss him.  He slid a fang across Godric's lower lip, and he tasted blood again.  The force of Godric's kisses increased.  It had never occurred to Eric that his Maker would be such a demanding kisser.

_How could we have gone this long and not done this_ , Eric wondered dazedly.  He heard Godric sigh at the taste and he bit on Eric’s tongue, sucking hungrily as his fingers moved slowly in and out.  Eric trembled, running his fingers through Godric's hair to pull him closer. 

“Now, Godric,” he murmured between kisses. 

Godric drew back a little and Eric gripped his hair, awed by the sheer lust on Godric's face. 

“Are you certain?” Godric asked, his voice ragged with desire.  Eric ran his fangs along Godric's neck.  Godric shivered and growled lustfully.

“Yes,” he sighed against Godric's cheek. 

Godric nudged Eric's legs further apart and slicked himself.  Before he entered, he bit down on Eric's neck, licking the blood that trickled down Eric's chest.  Eric moaned as Godric sucked hungrily, scrabbling at his back, wanting Godric more than anything else.  When the bite healed, Godric looked into Eric’s eyes. 

“Watch my face,” he whispered.  He moved forward gently, gasping as he did so. 

Eric's eyes didn’t leave Godric's, captivated by the sensation of another man, by _Godric,_ inside him, and by his face, his eyes focused on Eric's. 

Eric held up a wrist and Godric bit down, his eyes never leaving Eric's.  As he drank, Godric pushed in deeper and both of them groaned in pleasure.  Having drunk so much of each other’s blood, Eric could feel Godric's passion, and it was as strong as his own. 

“What do you feel?” Godric whispered, gently kissing Eric's wrist as it healed over. 

Eric moaned as Godric began thrusting.  “You,” he whispered raggedly.  “I feel you.” 

Feeling Godric deep inside him, his head tilted back a little as Godric moved back and forth slowly, hitting the sweet spot that made him shudder each time. 

“I feel bound to you,” he whispered, awestruck by the truth.

Godric nodded, his mouth hovered beside Eric's ear, his fangs brushing against the skin.  “We are bound to each other.”

When Godric's hand gripped his cock and began moving up and down, Eric struggled not to come.  Propped up on an elbow, he pulled Godric's face towards his, leaning forward to reach.  He bit into the curve between Godric's neck and shoulder and Godric groaned, pausing, just as close as Eric. 

“I lo...” Eric began, but then words failed him as Godric began to more ever faster.  In some distant part of Eric's mind that was still capable of coherent thought, he thought this feeling even better than the blissful taste of Godric's blood.

Godric let go of him, Eric wanted to moan in protest, but he forgot about it when Godric ran hand his hand through Eric's hair, pulling their foreheads together.  Eric gripped Godric's hair just as tightly.

Godric's eyes were glazed, gasping with each powerful thrust.  Eric watched in fascination, awed by the sight.  This was not Godric in control of himself. 

This was Godric, free, too caught in his – _their_ – lust to rule his body.

Eric urged him on, moaning against Godric's mouth as his body tightened, getting closer and closer to release.  Godric began to tense as well, his eyes closing, but Eric tugged on his hair.  Gasping, Godric opened his eyes.   

“I want you to look in my eyes,” Eric whispered, arching up again as Godric thrust harder.  Godric shivered, nodding at the demand.  Eric let his hand slide down, his fingers caressing the back of his neck.  His Maker began moving faster.   

His hand squeezed Eric's cock at the tip and Eric gasped, writhing, again fighting against this body not to come.  Eric felt Godric begin to shudder. 

Again, he grabbed Godric's hair, forcing him to look into his eyes as his thrusts became even harder and deeper.  With a final shudder, Godric cried out, his grey eyes locked on Eric's blue eyes. 

Then Eric gasped as his Maker withdrew, leaning forward to furiously kiss him, and Godric's hand was moving on Eric's cock once more.  Eric moaned against Godric's mouth, dazed with the need of release. 

Godric bit down on his throat hard and Eric groaned, caught between the twin sensations.  Eric sank his fangs into Godric's neck, drinking deep.  Godric kept drinking as Eric shuddered against him.  When he finally came, Eric cried out, blood trickling from his mouth. 

Utterly spent, he eventually withdrew his fangs, as did Godric.  He stared up at his Maker, smiling at his blood covered face.  With his grey eyes unfocused , Godric looked just as dazed as he felt.  Eric couldn’t resist, he ran his tongue over the tips of Godric's fangs.  Godric kissed him and then rolled off, and his head fell backwards.  He shut his eyes.

“I want to do that again,” Eric said, mostly to himself. 

“Can I have a moment first?”

Startled that Godric would say such a thing, Eric burst into laughter.  But he knew with unwavering certainty that this was how it would be.  How it was **meant** to be.   

Slowly, shakily, he sat up, surprised at how much blood covered them.  _So much for clean sheets_.  Godric’s eyes remained closed as Eric gently licked it off. 

The expression on Godric's face was one he’d never seen before.  His mouth had curved into a small smile and he looked calm, contented and relaxed.  Utterly peaceful.  Smiling, Eric ran his fingers over Godric's, letting the tips rest on his lips.  Without opening his eyes, Godric kissed them softly.

“I want to see your face like that forever,” Eric said quietly.

“Forever is a long time, my Child.”

Watching a shadow pass over Godric's face, a twinge of regret passed through Eric and a sense of unease began to fill him.  It took him a second to realise that the unease wasn’t his at all – it belonged to Godric.

“I know.”  Wanting Godric's tranquillity to return, Eric decided to take the risk.  “I will love you always.”

Godric opened his eyes and sat up, shifting away from Eric.  Eric held in a sigh.  _Once again, I’ve put my foot in it_. But words could not be taken back.

As Godric remained silent, Eric found himself struggling to sort out his own emotions.  With all the blood they’d just shared, every feeling and emotion was interlaced.  He felt a flash of fear, but was certain it wasn’t his own, a swell of love and he was sure that was his.  And perhaps from Godric too. 

Apprehension seemed to be the predominant emotion, for they both felt it.

Unable to stand the silence any longer, Eric asked, “What are you thinking?”

Godric would not meet his eyes.  “I cannot love you.”

Eric flinched.  “Why?”  He struggled to keep his voice steady.

“How can I?”  Godric was full of anguish.  “I have dominated every single movement and thought for over a thousand years.  But I cannot command what I feel for you.  I will not allow it.” 

“I can’t control it either.”  Eric smoothed the tangled hair out of Godric's face.  Then tentatively, “Perhaps we’re not meant to.”

“It is something human,” Godric said bitterly and he finally raised his eyes.  “I am **not** human.” 

Eric grimaced, feeling Godric's scorn and anger.  He leaned close and cradled Godric's face in his hands.  “When you drank from me, you felt... you _understood_ that I love you, didn’t you?  You knew?”

“...Yes.”

Looking at his Maker’s troubled face, it dawned on Eric that Godric had never trusted anyone before, nor been trusted.  He had never befriended anyone, or been friends with another.  He felt almost sick with pity and hoped Godric couldn’t feel it.

Before Eric, his Maker had never been loved by anyone, nor had he loved anyone in return. 

“You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Godric whispered.  Eric could feel his Maker trembling.

“Then how can you doubt me when I say I love you and that I’ll love you,” Eric kissed him tenderly, “always and forever?”

A solitary red tear rolled down Godric's cheek.  “Always and forever?”

Eric twined his arms around Godric's neck and kissed him softly.  Eric's tongue stroked his lips, and slowly his kisses grew fiercer, more demanding.  Godric shifted his head as Eric trailed kisses up his neck to just below his ear, licking and biting.  His Maker moaned softly and pulled him closer.

Eric returned to his lips, gentle kisses, moving slowly from one side to the other.  Godric's eyes closed as he sighed in pleasure, and Eric pressed a soft kiss to each of his eyelids.

“Yes,” Eric whispered and Godric opened his eyes.  “Always and forever.”

Nodding, Godric relaxed and to Eric's delight, that peaceful expression returned.  Eric kissed him, wanting to always stay in this loving embrace.

“I love you.” Godric's grey eyes full of wonder and adoration.  “Always and forever.”


	14. Chapter Fourteen

A pair of black jeans smacked Eric in the face and he woke with a start.

"Put these on," Pam ordered briskly.  He glanced down.  He'd fallen asleep in blood spattered clothes.  She tossed him a black shirt. 

He obediently put the clothes on, and the shoes that followed, putting a pair of gloves to protect his hands from silver in his back pocket.  Properly dressed, he saw that she was wearing a similar black outfit, though he noted hers all had designer labels, while his still had Wal-Mart price tags attached.  _Typical_.

"We'll drive," Pam said briskly as he pulled his shoes on.  "Get close to the house and walk through the woods at the back.  You know the layout of the place.  I'll distract the wolves and you'll get Godric out."

"We can't just fly there?"

"Too much to carry."  She scowled, disgusted.  "I don't want any of those filthy animals back in the club.  We're killing them all."  Pam dropped a heavy duffel bag on the desktop.  She smiled, so pleased with herself that her fangs were out.

"Pick your favourite."

Eric looked in the bag and then raised an eyebrow.  It was full of guns.  Rifles, shotguns, handguns, and plenty of ammunition.

"Pam, how very American of you."

"I don’t want to ruin my clothes." She smirked, but quickly became serious.  "I haven't been able to find out much else," she admitted.  "We already knew that Russell's court scattered when he went nuts.  I don't think we need to worry about them."

"So it's just the wolves then?"

"Yes."  Pam picked out a couple of handguns, testing their weight.  She put one back and picked out a rifle, frowned thoughtfully, but then selected a pair of Glocks. 

Eric didn’t care for using guns – _I guess Godric's one-on-one style rubbed off on me_ \- but he selected a semi-automatic Smith  & Wesson.  _They can come in handy_ , he reflected, securing it to his belt.

Much to Eric’s annoyance, they took Pam's car.  Even if it was more practical than his Corvette, he hated being in her car because he wasn't allowed to pick the music.  He was forced to listen to Michael Bublé the whole way.    _At least she’s not singing_ , he thought, grateful for small mercies as he glared at the radio.

The slave quarters were close to the main house, he knew that.  _I’ll be able to get there by flying_.  He didn't foresee any major problems.  Thanks to the gun, he could take out any werewolves at a distance, and if needed, use his own strength to take out any vampires.  _Hell, if Sookie can break Bill out of there, it should be pretty easy_. 

In Mississippi, Pam headed for the woods behind Russell's mansion.  Downwind from the mansion, standing among the trees, they could smell the wolves.  A howl rang out, maybe a mile or so away.  The pack was still on the property.

 The breeze sprang up, bringing a variety of new scents.  Eric focused, trying to identify each one.

"At least thirty different wolves," he said grimly.  He'd been hoping there'd be less.  There might have been a faint trace of Godric's scent in the breeze, but Eric wasn't sure if it was real or imagined.

Pam’s fangs ran out, her eyes bright with excitement.  "Shouldn't be too hard then." 

“Try not to die, Pam.”

Pam flashed him a brilliant smile.  “Good luck.”

Then there was a faint whoosh as Pam took off, moving swiftly through the woods, expertly carrying her guns.  Eric stayed put, listening attentively.  He didn't have to wait long.

He heard two gunshots and the thumps of the two dead wolves falling to the ground.  When the first howls started, he launched himself into the air, going as fast as he could.  Beneath him, he saw the wolves, some running towards the gunshots, others turning in nervous circles, tails between their legs, and a couple were so out of it that they weren't even paying attention, just wrestling with each other playfully.

He dropped to the ground in front of the stone hut that Russell had used as a prison for Bill.  No wolves stationed at the entrance and there were no vampires around.  As quietly as he could, Eric pushed open the door.

"Godric?"

Eric didn't see him at first as the hut was divided into two rooms.  It might have housed people once, now it was just storage.  Dust covered statues, cushions, tables, and paintings filled the first room.  Rows of torture devices made of silver hung artfully on the walls.  He moved through the archway to the next room.  There were the splattered remains of a vampire on the floor.  For a second he thought he was too late and then remembered Lorena. 

Eric looked up and froze, rooted to the spot in sheer horror.

Thick silver cuffs around his throat and wrist held an unconscious Godric tight against the wall.  Silver stakes had been pressed into his feet, pinning him in a stiff sitting position to the floor.  His left shoulder had been dislocated and his arm twisted up unnaturally, a silver stake in the palm of his left hand.  Another silver stake had been driven through his right shoulder, piercing his collar tattoo.   

His chest had been ripped open and a silver chain was wrapped around several protruding ribs.  Someone had broken his leg, the bone visible, and there were chunks of missing flesh all over his body. 

As he listened to the silver continuingly hiss against Godric's skin, Eric realised there was no blood in the room.  The wolves hadn't wasted a drop. 

"I'll get you out of here," Eric whispered, trying to decide how he would free Godric by causing him as little pain as possible.

 _Pull the stakes out, starting with the feet_ , he decided, pulling the gloves on.  The cuffs would keep him upright at least.  He gripped the one on the left and jerked hard.  It came out easily, and he looked up at Godric's face, wondering if he might open his eyes.  When he didn't, Eric hurriedly stood up to take the next one out.

He yanked, but this stake wouldn't yield so easily.  Someone had pushed it in extremely deep.  Godric's skin hissed again and Eric wanted to scream in frustration.   

"I am going to kill them for this," Eric muttered. 

Within a few minutes, he'd removed all the stakes.  He automatically went to remove a stake from Godric's right hand, but there was no need.  Godric wasn't just missing his hand. His arm had been torn off at the elbow.  It looked like it had been gnawed on.

Eric carefully began to unwind the silver chain from the bones, concentrating on the motion of the chain to avoid noticing the hiss of burning flesh as it brushed against Godric's insides.  Someone had pushed it deep into his chest cavity.  The flesh still burned and the chain came away with lung tissue.

All through this, Godric hadn't woken up, and Eric was glad for that. If Godric was unconscious, then he wouldn't be able to feel anything. 

He heard Pam scream suddenly and his head snapped up.  He could hear her outside, maybe thirty yards away.  She was swearing and he could hear wolves surrounding her.  She screamed again and this time it cut off abruptly.

"Pam?" he yelled. 

No response.  Just snarling wolves.

"Go help her."

Eric swung around and saw Godric gazing steadily up at him.  Someone had bitten off his right eyebrow and the white bone of his skull was visible. 

 "Pam can handle herself," Eric began, but Godric cut him off.

"Help her," he whispered, his voice faint and hoarse, but stern.  When Eric went to protest again, he added, "As your Maker, I **command** you to help her, my Child."

Eric glared at him, but had no choice.  He ran outside and looked around.  Pam had fallen between the driveway and the hut.  Fives wolves darted forward, trying to get her blood.  She kicked one away, but another grabbed her arm, shaking its head as it tried to pull her limb off.

"Get off her," Eric snarled.  The gun earned its keep and all five wolves were dead seconds later.    He bent down beside her.

"Fucking silver bullets," she rasped, writhing in pain.  She had one in her leg, her abdomen and chest. 

The bullets would come out, but it would be agonisingly slow, and until they were out, she wouldn't be able to move.  _No time_ , he decided.  The gloves had to come off, they were too bulky to allow him to grip the bullets easily, and he stuck his fingers in her leg.

He grunted as he pulled the silver bullet out.  Pam shrieked.

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"Be quiet," he hissed, dropping the bullet and flexing his hand, waiting for the skin to heal.  He wasn't sure where the one in her belly was.  "Pam, where?"

She was still young enough that going through the motions of breathing helped ease her pain.  As he waited for her to answer, he looked around anxiously for this mysterious shooter.

She twisted, touching a spot close to her kidneys.  "Here.  Close to the skin."

He nodded, steeled himself, and pushed his fingers in through the clean side.  He gave her his wrist to dampen her screams.  Pam bit down hard, gazing up at him eyes full of pain.

He could actually see the bullet in her chest; it had gotten stuck in a rib bone.  _At least I’m able to take that out easily_.  A few seconds later, she let go of his wrist, his blood trickling down her chin. 

“What did I tell you about dying?” he scolded affectionately, holding her carefully as she healed.  Finally, Pam was able to sit up on her own. 

"I don't know what you were so worried about," she said and despite his concern, he gave her a withering look.  "Did you find Godric?"

"Yes." He helped her to her feet.  "Who shot you?"

"I don't know.  Let's just get the hell out of here."

Eric could almost always tell when Pam was lying to him and she was lying now.  He looked around for the shooter again, but couldn't see anyone.  Just dead werewolves.  _It’ll have to wait_.

"I'll go get Godric.  You get the car." 

“What, he can’t fly?”

Grim, Eric shook his head.  "I'm not even sure if he'll heal."

Pam looked momentarily thrown.  Eric knew that while she didn't particularly like Godric, she'd always respected his strength.  She'd never seen him, never even considered him, to be anything but strong.  Her surprise quickly gave way to her desire to escape and she was gone.  He estimated it would take her maybe seven or eight minutes to return with the car.

Eric went back inside.  Godric’s eyes were still open, staring blankly forward.  He didn't even seem to have noticed that Eric was back.

"I'll get you out of here," Eric said again, but Godric didn't respond.

Only the cuffs were left.  He looked around for keys and saw a set on an elegantly crafted side table.  He flipped through them quickly, trying each key in one of the arm cuff locks.  Unfortunately, he'd left the gloves outside, and his bare skin kept knocking the silver cuff.  The third time, he dropped the keys.

"Fuck," he growled, snatching them up again.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Godric watching him coolly.

"Patience," Godric reminded him, his voice still faint.  Eric slowed a little, found the right key and the cuff clicked open.  There was no arm cuff on the right, which was good because Eric had trouble looking at Godric's ripped off arm.

"Hold still," he said, going through the keys for the right one to open the throat cuff.  When the cuff released, Godric slumped forward and Eric caught him.  Kissing the top of Godric's head, Eric blinked back tears of relief.  He wanted to hold Godric tight, but didn't dare for fear of hurting him further.  He settled for letting Godric rest against him.  He closed his eyes, relishing the sensation of Godric's skin against his. 

 _Godric’s alive and soon he’ll be safe_.      

When he opened his eyes though, he discovered there was raw flesh where the tattoo ought to be.  Nothing was healing.  He didn't put it past these animals to have pressed bits of silver into his wounds, but as far as he could see, there wasn't any more silver touching Godric.  It meant that Godric was simply too weak to heal.

Eric listened, but didn't hear the car.

"Godric," he said, bringing Godric's face up to look in his eyes.  "I'm going to give you my blood.  You have to drink."

Godric pulled way, shaking his head.  "No."

Eric brought his wrist to his mouth.  "No choice, Godric."

"No."

"Godric, please."  Begging seldom worked with Godric, but he tried anyway.  "You have to." 

Godric's grey eyes blazed with anger.  "I said **no**."

Exasperated, Eric changed tactics, pointing at the door behind them.  "If you drink, you'll be able to walk out of here.  If you don't, I'll have to carry you."

His Maker stared at him stonily, unmoved.  Eric glared back at him.

_Why won’t he drink?_

"For fuck's sake," Eric muttered, standing up.  "Get up then.  I want to get out of here."

Using his good leg, Godric slowly began to push himself upright.  He was too old for his body to act like Pam's.  If Godric felt pain, there was only pain and nothing could change that.  To Eric's utter astonishment, he managed to stand up straight.     

Shoulders shaking with effort, Godric looked around.  "Where are we?"

"In Russell Edgington's house, surrounded by werewolves and some other fuckers with guns," Pam snapped from the doorway.  She looked Godric up and down.  "You look like shit, Godric."

 


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**_Spring.  1212 AD.  Morocco_ **

Godric had finally reappeared. 

"Explain why people would enjoy this," Eric demanded, still disgusted with what he’d just seen.

"Again?”  His Maker raised a dark eyebrow at him, nonplussed.  “What is it that you don't grasp?"

Eric waved a hand towards the small amphitheatre.  "Entertainment, Godric?  Laughing and cheering because people fight to the death?" 

 _Killing in a battle, or perhaps an honour bound challenge, I can understand, but for sport?_   _It’s_ _senseless_. 

"Godric, this is wrong."

Godric narrowed his eyes, his lip curling in irritation.  "Poor words coming from the mouth of a vampire."  His Maker regarded him. 

 _This entire spectacle is ridiculous_. 

There was no official name.  Some of the vampires called them gladiatorial games, others called it a festival, while others just called it exactly what it was.

Vampires fighting to the death. 

The games had been going on for several months; vampires from all over came and went as they pleased, fighting and dying, and many stayed on to watch the games. 

Godric and Eric had arrived several nights ago and having now watched nearly a hundred vampires die, Eric had no idea why any of them would be so eager to risk their necks like this.  Tonight alone, eight vampires had died in these so called 'sporting' battles.  The arena stank of their remains. 

Eric scowled.  “Where have you been anyway?  I couldn’t find you.”

“I was meeting with the impresario of the ring.”

 Eric whirled and grabbed Godric by the shoulders, shaking him. “Tell me you aren’t serious.”

“I will fight Kallisto.”  Godric pushed Eric's hands off. 

“Kallisto?”  Eric remembered her.  “ _Kallisto_!”

“You’re permitted to sit in the main pavilion,” Godric said, as though Eric hadn’t spoken. 

“You’re fighting _now_?”

“Yes.”

Eric stared dumbly at the ground, trying to wrap his mind around what was going on and when Godric touched his face, anger won out.  Eric smacked his hand away and bared his fangs. 

“Are you completely insane?” Eric hissed.

Godric just stared up at him blankly, for once not commenting on Eric's failure to control his emotions.  After a minute, he shrugged and pulled off his shirt, tossing it aside. 

 _With its long sleeves, it would only be a hindrance_ , Eric thought distractedly.  Cheers from the crowd made Eric realise the fight would begin soon.

"Godric," Eric said softly, his fangs drawing back.  His anger was quickly being replaced by desperation.  "Please, don't do this.  It's madness.  I watched your opponent last night.    Kallisto killed six vampires, all much older than her."

 Eric listened miserably as the crowd of vampires in the arena started calling for the next duel to begin.  He was dismayed to see the growing excitement on his Maker's face.  Eric began to pace, trying to figure out an argument that would convince Godric not to do this.

“She’s killed many older vampires - fifteen all up.  You’re the only one left that is even close to her age," he said anxiously.  _Reason works better with Godric than begging_.  "She's older than _you_ , Godric.  She'll be stronger than you."

"Kallisto is overly confident in the strength her age gives her," Godric calmly replied, his eyes tracking Eric's anxious steps.  "It will be her undoing."

"You sound too cocky yourself." 

Eric grabbed Godric's wrists, holding on tight, wishing he had the strength to prevent Godric from moving.  “Just tell me why you want to do this.”

Godric glanced away.  “I will explain later.”

“Later?” Eric repeated incredulously.  He raised his chin defiantly.  “What if there isn’t a ‘later’?”

The boyish face that he loved so dearly smiled broadly back up at him.

"I will not die, my Child.  I promise you."  Godric caught his eye.  “I love you.”    

While it filled Eric with happiness every time those words passed Godric's lips, this time it did nothing to cool his anger or soothe his worries, and he couldn’t bring himself to reply.  _Not now._   He let Godric's wrists go.

The doors were dragged open, a signal that the fight was to begin.  Godric smiled at the sound, his eyes bright in anticipation.    Unhappily following Godric through the doors, Eric hoped that was a promise Godric would be able to keep. 

Once inside, Eric straightened; his head held high as he went up to the lavish box that seated the three vampires who had organised this blood filled festival.  Considering how sadistic vampires could be, Eric suspected they just wanted to see his expression should Godric fail.

They were referred to as the Roman Triumvirate. 

As he entered, he was aware of the age that radiated off them.  They were not as old as Godric, his Maker had roughly two hundred years on them, but they were far stronger than Eric would ever be.   They didn't even glance at him as he entered and it gave him the chance to look them over carefully.  He had heard much about them these past few nights.

The elegant Aemilia Metella, her light brown hair pulled neatly back in bun, tendrils framing her face.  She was dressed in a traditional Roman stola and deep purple palla.  She noticed his gaze and looked at him, first curiously, and then she smiled slowly before looking away. 

Aulus Cornelius Tranquillus wore the more modern clothing of the country, something a rich merchant might wear.  He had bright green eyes and a very long arched nose.  He ignored Eric completely.

Eric studied Hannibal Antonius Silvanus closely.  This was the vampire that had instigated the gladiatorial games, taking over an abandoned amphitheatre, unused since the fall of Rome.  He was tall, though not as tall as Eric, and his features were handsome.  

Hannibal was the King of these lands and their host.  Aemilia and Aulus ruled nearby kingdoms.  They were considered to be good rulers, managing their kingdoms carefully, often conferring with each other on royal matters.  Or so he’d heard from other vampires.

There was another in the box; Eric had not met this grey haired vampire before.  He was rather ghastly to look at and Eric suspected that he had to glamour women into sharing his bed.  _Surely no woman in her right mind would want to have sex with something so ugly_.

The ugly vampire was sitting at Hannibal’s right hand.  There were two chairs set up by the railing, one on either side of the pavilion.  When it became obvious that no-one was going to invite him to sit, he quietly chose the chair nearest the entrance.  _Apparently Kallisto’s Maker isn’t here or she doesn’t have a Child with her_.  The other chair remained empty.

Eric looked around the stands.  Over three hundred vampires had converged tonight to watch these vampire gladiators fight and die.  Godric had taught him the signs to look for in judging the age of another vampire; Eric decided that none of them were over four hundred years old.  All this blood and violence excited them, eyes glittering with bloodlust followed the movements of the two vampires about to fight to the death.  Eric grimaced and looked down to the blood stained ring.

There was a range of weapons for the combatants to choose from.  They were all made of silver and the two were given gloves to hold them. 

Already a long time champion in the ring, Kallisto was enjoying her fame.

She made a show of picking her weapon, holding up first a sword and then a spear to the crowd, letting their calls decide what she should choose.  In the end, she ignored them all and selected a silver pronged trident, holding it aloft so the crowd could see her choice.  They bellowed their approval even louder.

The weapons master couldn't hide his surprise when Godric turned away from the table.  Eric sighed, not surprised in the least.  The crowd jeered and laughed.

Aemilia leaned over to him.  "Why does he not pick a weapon?" she asked, sounding rather perplexed.  "Has he a death wish of some sort?"

She spoke in Arabic, a language that Eric was still unfamiliar with, and he had to think before responding. 

"Godric thinks needing a human weapon is a sign of weakness in a vampire," he finally said, hoping he'd phrased it correctly.

Aemilia arched an eyebrow.  "How curious."  She settled back in her seat, a thoughtful look on her face.

His answer caught the attention of Aulus and Hannibal, but they didn't look at him.  Godric and Kallisto were already circling each other. 

Aulus snickered, but spoke in Greek, a language Eric understood well enough.  "The fool."

Hannibal laughed outright as he looked into the ring.  "This should be entertaining then," he said and signalled for the game to begin.  "If short."

The crowd began cheering for their favourite, the dazzling Kallisto. 

The blonde woman was tall and strong looking and Kallisto carried herself with the air of a beautiful woman who expected others to bow at her feet in worship.  She darted forward, her trident held low, meant to pierce Godric's stomach.

But he was no longer where he stood.

She pulled up sharp, looking around and saw him standing several feet away, just behind her.  She charged again, but again he moved too quickly for her.  They did this dance for several minutes before she threw the trident. 

It caught him in the shoulder, one of the prongs barely an inch away from his heart.  He stopped, grimacing in pain.  Eric watched in horror as Godric's flesh smoked from the silver.

Kallisto raised her arms and the crowd cheered her on.  Smirking, she walked forwards to retrieve her weapon. 

As her hand touched the handle of the trident, Godric ripped it out, the end of the handle smacking Kallisto in the chin, and he tossed it high into the crowd.  There were shrieks as the vampires moved to avoid the silver.  Others cried out in delight at the unexpected act.

Kallisto stared up after her weapon in surprise and Godric caught her by the throat.  She gripped his hand, thrashing furiously as she tried to pry his fingers off.  He held her tight as his shoulder healed.  Then he threw her across the ring.

She leapt to her feet, furious, and quickly grabbed a scythe with a silver blade and a spear from the nearby weapons table.  She brandished them, the crowd of vampires roaring excitedly.

"He's going to die," chuckled Aulus, watching as they circled each other again.  Aemilia glanced at Eric's worried face.

“How do you know him?”

Hannibal frowned, as if about to berate her, but his attention was drawn back to the ring.  Eric had noticed that around the Triumvirate the pompous vampire etiquette was rather strict.  _Perhaps asking a vampire about their heritage is considered poor form_? 

“He’s a friend,” Eric said, choosing a simple explanation. 

Aemilia watched as Kallisto continued flaunting her new weapons of choice and then leaned over Hannibal to speak to Aulus.

"I want to change my bet to favour this Godric," she said in Greek. 

Eric kept his eyes focused on the ring.  _They place bets over these games_?  He was disgusted all over again.  However, the stakes truly shocked him.

Aulus laughed.  "You want to lose your kingdom over this idiot?"  When she didn't reply, he laughed again.  "Fine.  Hannibal, do you witness this change?  Her kingdom will be mine if she loses and mine will be hers if I lose – which I won't."

"Yes."  Hannibal was watching the ring excitedly, but spared a glance at Aemilia.  "Don't come begging to me if you lose."

In the ring, Kallisto kept lunging towards Godric with the spear, moving almost as fast as he was.  The weapons slowed her down slightly, but she was still able to scrape him with the spear a few times.  When she did, he would stop, glaring at the wound indignantly, but would be off before she could skewer him.  Occasionally, Godric would dart towards Kallisto, slashing at her milky white skin with his sharp fingernails. 

The crowd was cheering loudly, but Eric could see they were getting bored with this game of cat and mouse.  He looked back down, focusing.  He held in a groan - Godric was enjoying himself.

Then Eric saw why and wanted to laugh.  Godric wasn't striking randomly at all – he was ripping through her clothes in strategic spots.  _She'll be naked in a minute if he keeps this up_ , Eric realised, amused by Godric's impishness, but still nervous. 

Sure enough, Kallisto lost the top part of her dress and froze.  Cat calls and laughter ensued.  Godric politely stepped away, tipping his head to show that he wouldn't attack her while she redressed.  He even turned around.  Eric was mildly surprised by Godric's showmanship.  With great dignity, Kallisto redressed herself, but didn't take her eyes off Godric.

When she picked up the spear and scythe again, Godric turned back.  She lunged at him, but her chosen weapons weren't designed for close combat.  Godric was easily able to fend her off, but a kick to the midsection made him reel back.

Kallisto had stopped in the middle of the ring, her teeth gritted in anger.  Godric stopped as well, watching her, an amused expression on his face as he waited for her next move, his fangs bared.

"Kill her," Eric urged softly, desperate for this to end.  The rest of the crowd was screaming for **her** to kill **him**.

Kallisto finally threw the spear and Godric shifted aside as it came towards him, turning around as he did so.  He didn't see Kallisto throw the scythe. 

It caught him low in the back, digging deep into his spine.  He crumpled to the ground, paralysed from the waist down.

Eric leapt to his feet in horror as Godric writhed in pain, his fingers digging into the dirt and his blood spilling everywhere.  Kallisto grabbed a sword, causally tossing it from hand to hand as she approached Godric, ready to deliver the killing blow.

 _No_ , Eric thought, terrified. 

She stood over him, holding the sword high.  The crowd's screaming reached fever pitch as they waited for her to triumph. 

 _Have to help him somehow_.  He felt so numb with fear that it was like a force pressing on him.  Eric looked despairingly down at Godric.  _You promised you wouldn't die._

Kallisto was smiling proudly, relishing the adoration of the crowd. 

_You **promised!**_

Then Godric grabbed the handle of the scythe, ripped it out of his back, swung it around and severed her feet from her legs.

She was too surprised to scream as she fell back.  She pushed herself up on her elbows, staring at her feet, still resting just in front of Godric, as if confused as to how they got there.  Then she started shrieking in agony.

Godric nearly toppled over several times as he struggled to get up, but eventually staggered to his feet.  He looked down at her coldly. 

Kallisto realised that Godric was standing and she was not.  Her eyes widened in terror as he lunged, grabbed her, and sunk his fangs into her neck.

The crowd had gone silent in shock.  The only noise to be heard was Godric gulping down her blood.

When he was finished, he dropped her to the sandy floor of the arena.  She lay there, almost completely drained, weakened to the point of being unable to heal.  Godric stood over her, flushed with strength again, her blood dripping down his chin to cover the tattoo on his chest.

Everyone heard her final pleas. "Please... don't kill me."  She started to cry.  "I don't want to die!"

Godric knelt down beside her, running his fingers over her mouth to hush her.  "Everything ends," he said, gentle, but unmerciful.  "Even the immortal."

He slammed his fist into her chest and yanked out her heart.  The crowd starting screaming in delight when it and Kallisto's body exploded, splattering Godric with yet more blood.

 _He did it_ , Eric thought dazedly, watching as Godric waved politely at the audience of excited vampires.  With the fight now over, he seemed eager to leave the ring.

As Hannibal leaned over to whisper to the ugly, unfamiliar vampire, Eric bolted out of the box, muttering something that he hoped was ‘Excuse me.’ 

By the time had Godric finished waving to the audience, Eric was already waiting for him just outside the amphitheatre.  His Maker smiled as he approached, pushing his dripping hair out of his eyes, though he was so covered in blood it made little difference.  Back in the arena, the crowd began to cheer for the next combatants who were stupid enough to fight to the death. 

"You're alive."

"So to speak."  Godric gave up trying to wipe the blood off his face.

Eric opened his mouth to say something when Godric pressed up against him, wrapping his slender arms around Eric's neck, pulling his head down, and kissed Eric lightly on the jaw, letting his fangs run across the skin.  Eric shivered with pleasure. 

But the scent of unfamiliar vampire blood on Godric was strange. His hands hovered over Godric's skin, and Eric found himself unwilling to touch his Maker in this state. 

Just then, a human approached them and Godric's eyes gleamed dangerously at the interruption. 

There were dozens of villages nearby and many of the humans had been hypnotised into becoming willing victims and servants.  When the vampires eventually left the area, the hundreds of dead bodies would be blamed on some sort of disease. 

“There are some towels by the river if you’d like to clean up,” she said in dull voice, pointing towards a small river mile or so away.  She stared blankly at them.  There were bite marks all over her.

Eric was glad for the offer.  The very thought of tasting another vampire’s blood on Godric's skin made him feel ill suddenly.

“Thank you,” Eric said, tugging on Godric's slippery wrist. 

The girl just blinked.  “There are some towels by the river if you’d like to clean up.”

She remained where she was, still staring blankly.  Eric looked at her pityingly.  _Her mind is completely destroyed_.  He started to head towards the water, but Godric paused beside the girl, and then his fangs were in her neck. 

A few minutes later, she crumpled to the ground and for once, Godric didn’t bother covering his tracks, he simply left his kill there. Eric looked around, hungry himself and saw another mindless slave sitting nearby, a young man staring silently past them, as if waiting for someone.  His fangs extended and Eric drained him within minutes, tossing the corpse aside as casually as Godric did.

Once they were by the river, Eric couldn’t hear the eager screams for death coming from the amphitheatre, even with his excellent hearing.  _Thank the gods_.  He dropped down beside the towels while Godric stripped off his stained pants and stepped into the water. 

As the water rushed over his ankles, Godric tilted his face towards the sky and closed his eyes, a small smile on his lips.  In the moonlight, the blood glistened on his Maker’s skin, trickled over his strong muscles and Eric could see the tips of his fangs just visible against his pale lower lip.

 _I was right in calling him Godric._ Eric couldn’t help smiling.  _He is as powerful as a god_. 

_Yet I was so afraid I would lose him._

After a few minutes of just watching his Maker standing quietly, Eric picked up one of the towels, wetting the cloth in the water and began wiping Godric’s face clean.  Pulled out of his reverie, Godric blinked, looking up at Eric, but his eyes were distant, not really seeing him.

He pushed his Maker’s blood-drenched hair back off his face, towelling Godric's messy hair clean as best he could and took his time as he continued to wipe the congealing blood off, occasionally picking off a small bit of tacky tissue. 

While Eric was on his knees pulling a stringy, bloody bit of... _something_ off Godric's torso, Godric playfully pushed him backwards into the water.  Eric's reflexes had improved and before he fell back, he wrapped an arm around Godric's legs.  Godric splashed into the water beside him.

 _At least her blood is off him now_ , Eric thought, relieved.  When Godric sat up, Eric splashed water in his face.  “Imp.”

Wryly, Eric looked down at his clothes, now heavy with water.  He pulled his shirt off and tossed it up onto the bank, hoping it would dry before dawn, and smiled when Godric's slender hands joined his in tugging off his pants.  He tossed those up on the bank too and wrapped his arms around his eager Maker. 

He sighed softly, enjoying the weight of his Maker in his arms.  He ran his fingers through his damp hair, and closed his eyes as Godric's fangs cut into the skin of his jaw, a tiny line of blood welling up, that Godric slowly licked away.

Godric replaced his mouth with his fingers, running them over Eric's fangs.  A finger pressed lightly against Eric's lips and Eric sucked it into his mouth, tonguing it gently.  He felt a shudder run through Godric, and then Godric was kissing the corner of his mouth, his other hand twined in Eric's long, blonde hair.

Eric let his hands slide down Godric's stomach and then his hand moved between Godric's legs.  He let go of Godric's finger when Godric groaned softly with pleasure.  He rested his head in the crook of Eric's shoulder, rocking slowly with Eric's hand.

Eventually impatient for more, they went back to the shore, and Eric pulled Godric down to a patch of dried grass and snatched up one of the towels.

Ignoring his own wet skin, he worked the towel down Godric's chest, gently rubbing one arm and then the other, slow, firm movements as the gradually dampening towel passed over Godric's skin.  He could see Godric relaxing, enjoying this different sort of touching between them.

Eric wiped off the outside of his legs, and when he saw Godric's mouth curve into a smile, clearly expecting him to move his hand to the inside of his thigh, he teasingly shifted behind him.

It proved to be a mistake.  As he wiped down Godric's back, at the very place the scythe had dug in, his hand faltered.  Eric knew that Godric was perfectly healed – having drunk the blood of another vampire would have only increased his strength – but he couldn’t help feeling that he ought to be able to see scars or bruises on his Maker. 

 _How is it possible that someone could have almost killed Godric_?

Eric hurriedly continued wiping down the backs of Godric's legs, desperately wanting his lust to return.  But it was too late.

Godric caught him by the wrists and turned around to face him.  He rearranged himself so his face was level with Eric's.  “Talk,” he ordered gently. 

“I was frightened.” 

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Eric felt the fear return, spreading through every part of him.  It felt like he was choking on it.  In his mind, he suddenly saw the silver scythe embedded in Godric's back. 

The towel dropped from his hand and he fought down to urge to tremble.  _No_ , he told himself angrily as he tried to will the vision away, _Godric is fine_.  _He’s **fine**_. 

“I could feel how frightened you were,” Godric said calmly, leaning back.  “I was never in any danger, my Child.”

Far from soothed, Eric gaped at him.  “I thought that bitch was going to kill you, Godric.  You might not have been frightened of her, but I was.  I thought I would lose you.”

“You should have controlled your fear.”  Godric tucked Eric's hair behind his ears.  “I promised you that I wouldn’t die, did I not?” 

“You needed a weapon in the end,” Eric muttered accusingly, a little irritated at the familiar chiding. 

“I meant to break her ankle.”  Godric's hand fell away.  “But I grew distracted and too much time passed.  I had to improvise.”

“Distracted?  By what?”

“It doesn’t matter.”  Godric waved dismissively.  “I studied all the victors for the past few nights.  When I decided to fight, I knew I-”

“Wait, you _planned_ this?  And didn’t tell me?”  He punched Godric in the face, grimly satisfied when he heard Godric's nose break and saw blood trickle from his nose. 

“Of **course** it matters, you bastard!”  Still enraged, he went to hit Godric again, but this time his Maker caught his fist and squeezed, slowly crushing his hand. 

“I have shed enough of my own blood for one night, Eric.”  Godric's grey eyes were cold.  “I said it did not matter.  Yet you question my words?”

He cried out in pain as the bones in his hand splintered and snapped.  Eric couldn’t meet Godric's gaze, and finally defeated, he hung his head. 

“When you were lying there,” he said softly, “I wanted to go down and help you.  But I felt like I couldn’t move. You were forcing me back, weren’t you?  Through our bond.”

Godric let go.

“Yes.”

Eric just nodded miserably and stared at his hand, even after it had healed.  _He nearly died because of **me**_. 

Godric sighed.  “I knew I would conquer anyone I fought.  I would not throw my life away."  He tried to catch Eric's eye.  “I did not mean to upset you.  That was not my intention.”

“Intention?” Eric repeated.  He looked up.  “Godric, _why_ did you want to fight?” 

This seemed the greatest mystery of all to Eric.  However confident he was, Godric had put himself in a very precarious position and it was extremely out of character.

To Eric's surprise, Godric was troubled by the question.  He lay back, staring at night sky, his expression dark.  Despite the current tension between them, Eric lay on his side, but was careful not to touch his Maker.

“You said you would tell me,” Eric reminded him tentatively.

“So I did.”

As if their fight was forgotten, Godric pushed his body closer, making Eric think of a pup burrowing into its mother’s fur for warmth.  Eric smiled, relieved, his nails tracing over the black runes on Godric's arm.

His Maker chuckled suddenly, but there was no mirth in it.  “You tell me that I cannot understand something because it’s so human.  That I’ve forgotten it.”  He looked up at Eric's face.  “I think this is something you cannot truly understand because you are too young.”

Surprised, Eric leaned back.  “Tell me?”    

“I wanted to fight,” Godric said softly, closing his eyes, “to make them see me.”

Eric nodded slowly, but didn’t say anything.  He could grasp the meaning of Godric's words, and they frightened him.

 

_Could you be a companion of death?  Could you walk with me through the world...Through the dark?_

 

He shivered, looking around them.  He could see extremely well in the dark, but even his eyes had their limits.  Eventually, the night swallowed everything up in shadows. 

 _Darkness makes so many things disappear and Godric has walked through it for over a thousand years_.  _Unnoticed for a thousand years_.

Eric wished there was something he could say, but if there was, he had no idea what it could possibly be.  He let his hands wander over Godric's skin again.  His Maker appeared to be grateful for his silence, lost in his own thoughts.

Eric watched his Maker’s face as his hands stroked over Godric’s feet, his ankles, and up and around his legs with only a weak smile in response.  It made Eric uneasy. 

“Godric?” he prodded, wanting to quickly draw him out of this unexpected melancholy.   Godric glanced at him with the same distant look in his eyes.   

“I see you.”  Eric touched his cheek.  “Always.”

The fierceness of the kiss caught him completely off guard and he very nearly pulled back in surprise.  Eric had expected a smile, or a sweet, gentle kiss; not for Godric to grab him by the back of the neck and pull their mouths together, sucking and nipping hungrily. By the time he let go, both their lips were bleeding badly.

“You saw me, my Child.”

Eric had no idea of what particular time his Maker was referring to, and just closed the gap between their mouths again, hungrily tasting their mingled blood before the wounds healed over.  Godric slid his hands along Eric's broad shoulders and down his arms to hold him down by the wrists, rolling him onto his back.

Godric was almost always the dominating one, it was simply a part of his controlling personality, but Eric didn’t mind.  It was just one of the many things about his Maker that he loved. 

Eric arched up as Godric's strong body slid against his own and Godric's fangs brushed along his throat and shoulders.

Eric growled softly, wrapping his arms around his Maker to grind himself against Godric's cock and Godric growled back, his grey eyes full of lust.  Hearing the noise, Eric felt quite confident, smugly so, that Godric's heavy-heartedness was gone.

Godric sighed, rubbing his cheek against Eric's and grinding harder.  His lips began making their way down Eric's neck, his fingers constantly exploring Eric's skin.  Every time Eric moaned in pleasure, Godric's eyes flickered up to look at his face.  He took a nipple in his mouth, running his tongue over it gently before sliding his fangs in.  Blood trickled from the tiny wounds on either side as he sucked.

Though he felt almost dizzy with delight as Godric's mouth moved to his other nipple, Eric thought he would go mad with frustration, pressing himself against Godric's cool skin. 

Eric let his hands wander over Godric's shoulders, his nails lightly grazing the skin the way Godric liked so much, but realised the red mark was getting too close to his fingers and let go.  His fingers curled tight as Godric reopened the wound and sucked harder.

Abruptly, Godric let go and his mouth continued downwards, the tips of his fangs skimming over Eric's skin just enough to bring blood to the surface for less than a second.  His hands travelled down Eric's thighs, his thumbs massaging lazily.  He glanced down to see Godric's eyes intent on his face, waiting for him to look down.  Then Godric smiled slowly, wickedly, taking his time as he kissed his way down Eric's abdomen.

Eric heard Godric retract his fangs. 

Eric gasped as Godric's tongue ran up and down his cock before closing his mouth over him.  He gently sucked, his tongue stroking, lightly at first, but then harder.  Eric's moans continued as Godric's nails trailed up the inside of his thighs.  Eric propped himself up on his elbows to watch, his entire body shaking with pleasure.

Just as Eric got close, Godric released him, though he barely moved his head away.  He held out his wrist to Eric and Eric eagerly pressed his mouth against it.  Pulling his leg closer, Godric nuzzled the inside of Eric’ thigh.

They bit at the same time and all else vanished.  The red bliss of blood flowed into Eric's mouth, and through the link, Godric's fiery passion filled him, consuming him.

He wasn’t sure who let go first; he slowly became aware that Godric's face was inches from his own, blood dripping down his chin and throat.  He licked at the blood around Eric's mouth.

“Tell me what you want,” his Maker whispered.

Eric wrapped his arms around Godric's chest, pulling him close.  “I want you inside me,” he whispered back, running his fingers along the underside of Godric's cock, smiling as when he heard a soft moan in reply.

As Godric licked the blood off his face, Eric let go of him, reaching for a pouch attached to his trousers that held a small vial of oil. 

Once his fingers were slippery, Eric wrapped his hand around Godric, stroking and squeezing gently.  Godric sighed when Eric let go.  He slid his tongue against Eric's as he entered slowly and Eric groaned against his lips, clutching his back, trying to draw him in deeper.

Godric's fangs brushed along Eric's neck.  “I love how you cry out into my mouth like that.”

With each of Godric's gentle thrusts, Eric felt the tension and anxiety of the night melt away.

His Maker began kissing his way down Eric's neck, pausing every few inches to bite and take a few thrilling mouthfuls of blood, while Eric clawed his back, his nails digging deep enough to draw blood.  Godric hissed at the sensation, withdrawing his fangs to arch up into Eric's hands.

Wracked with pleasure, Eric watched, spellbound, as his Maker lost control of himself, groaning softly, his eyes focused on Eric's face, but not really seeing him.  Such an enthralling sight, something that only Eric ever saw and only in the heat of their coupling. 

Eric felt him begin to tremble and grabbed Godric's face, demanding his attention.  Godric snarled softly at the disruption, but slowed his movements, dazed and shaking.

“Stay with me,” Eric gasped, pressing his forehead against Godric's, gazing into his grey eyes.  “Stay with me.”

Godric nodded, holding Eric's gaze as he began to move faster again.  He ran his fingers down Eric's shoulders and arms, enlacing their fingers and suddenly, Eric realised he’d been pinned down.  Godric looked down at him, his fangs bared and growling, but from this position, his mouth couldn’t reach Eric's neck.  Eric growled back, urging him on.

Eric wriggled a wrist and his Maker let it go, watching raptly as Eric placed it to his mouth.  Godric hissed softly and bit, driving his fangs in deep.  Caught in his blood lust, Godric had lost possession of himself again.  Eric gasped, writhing as Godric swallowed, blood dripping down his chin and throat. 

Godric let go of his wrist, and tilted his head back, exposing his throat.  His movements didn’t cease and Eric had no idea how he managed to reach his Maker’s neck to sink his fangs in, but he did. 

He forced his fangs in deep, lost in the flowing river of blood. 

Not withdrawing his fangs, Eric's hands twisted tightly in Godric's hair as he came and feeling Eric shake in his arms, Godric cried out as well, his nails digging deep into Eric's shoulders and shuddering violently.

Eric kissed him tenderly.  “Always.”

“Forever,” Godric whispered back, nudging Eric's cheek with his nose. 

After a few quiet moments, they stood up, and Eric was rather amazed at how much blood covered them both.  He looked up, about to comment on it to Godric, but was suddenly struck by how...

There was a human on the other side of the river, about three hundred yards away.  Godric was watching her, his fangs extended.  Eric was startled at how quickly Godric could go from being so loving in his arms to being a predator ready to go in for the kill. 

“You were born for this life, weren’t you?” Eric whispered.  “One of killing and blood and endless night.”

“I am Death.”  Godric's fangs gleamed in the moonlight.  “Never forget that.”

A little unnerved, Eric bent down to see if his clothes had dried at all.

“You are as well, my Child,” Godric said from behind him.  His voice became a littler sterner.  “Be sure to remember that in future.”

Eric nodded, waiting to see what Godric would do about the human.  She died. 

They washed quickly in the river.  It was uncomfortable dressing, more so for Eric, as their clothes weren’t dry, but they could easily acquire some from one of the villages, so that was where they headed. 

While they waited on a bench for a hypnotised human to find them something suitable, Eric pulled a newly made bracelet out of his pocket. 

“I finished this for you last night.”

Godric smiled gently, delighted, holding out his wrist obligingly.  It had taken Eric weeks to ‘acquire’ the rubies and opals for this particular gift, and he was quite proud of it.

The amphitheatre was close by and when there was a sudden roar, Eric grimaced, knowing the excited noise meant that some other fool had died.  Remembering something, he turned to Godric. 

“You said last night that the oldest vampire attending was an Egyptian called Iah, didn’t you?  That he was about five thousand years old?”

Godric looked up.  “Yes.  As far as I know.”

“He was killed in the fight before yours.”

“He was?” Godric actually sounded shocked.

Eric nodded.  “Actually, they killed each other by throwing their weapons at the other’s head.”  He tried to recall the other fighter’s name.  “The other one was Jimrasu, I think.”

Godric frowned.  “He was three and a half thousand years old.”

“Who is the oldest vampire you know?” Eric asked curiously.  None of the vampires they’d encountered since Eric had turned had ever recognised Godric, despite Godric having said that he’d lived in nests before.  _So he must know older vampires_.  _But where are they_? 

“The oldest vampire I know of is my Maker and even then, I do not know the exact age.”  Godric smiled at Eric’s astounded expression.  As Godric seldom mentioned his Maker, this was particularly exciting for Eric. 

“My Maker was ancient when those that claim the title of ancient were still human.”  But that was all he said.

“Aren’t too many of those left now after these stupid games,” Eric grumbled.  Godric glanced sideways at him. 

“We all knew the rule of the game,” he said coolly.  "There is only survival or death, my Child.  Remember?"

"Your words are very true," a voice purred behind them and they both stood up.  When Eric saw who it was, he immediately moved to stand behind Godric. 

It was the ugly vampire that had been sitting with the three Romans.  _How long as he been standing there_ , Eric wondered suspiciously.  _Probably listening the whole time_.

Ignoring Eric, the vampire held out the scythe to Godric, inclining his head.  "A symbol of your great victory."

Godric took the proffered scythe, smiling politely, but Eric knew that it would be thrown away when they left.  Having used a weapon in the fight, Eric knew his Maker did not consider this a true victory. 

"Forgive my bad manners," the vampire continued.  "My name is Magnus.  I am one of the gentry in the court of Hannibal Antonius Silvanus."

Godric looked him over, as unimpressed with his appearance as Eric was.  Eric felt Godric become cautious and wondered what was going on.  _Godric has just killed a fearsome foe, why would this ugly bastard make him wary?_

Magnus smiled.  It did nothing to improve his appearance.  "The Roman Triumvirate are very impressed with your skill.  Particularly Hannibal."

Eric realised that Aemilia Metella had just won a kingdom.  "I expect that Aemilia is pleased too."

"Eric," Godric said, his voice low, but extremely stern. "Be quiet."    

Chastened, Eric looked at the ground.  Vampire etiquette could be tiresome, but Magnus was his elder.  Barely.  To a puritanical vampire, he'd potentially put himself in a perilous position by speaking out of turn. 

Magnus ignored this faux pas, focusing on Godric instead.

"If you are willing, Hannibal has an offer he would like you to consider."

 


	16. Chapter Sixteen

“Russell Edgington,” Godric repeated softly.  He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. 

Eric went to snap at Pam, furious, but stopped.  She looked like she was about to be sick.  She turned her head away, shut her eyes, and Eric could see her silently mouthing, "One.  Two.  Three.  Four... Five."

She opened her eyes again and seemed composed.  "Let's get out of this shithole.”

"Who are the shooters?" Eric demanded.  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Godric was shaking badly.  He couldn’t even begin to imagine how much pain his Maker must be in. 

Pam hesitated.  "I'll explain later."  He frowned sharply at her, but she waved him off.  " _Later_.  We need to _go_."

Godric opened his eyes again, focusing on the open door.  Then he looked at Pam, saw the blood on her clothes, torn from the wolves and the bullets, the weariness in her posture from blood loss.   

"I will not be able to move fast enough to keep you safe," he said, his voice so faint that Eric could barely hear him.  Again, Eric went to bite his wrist to give Godric his blood, but the angry glare on Godric’s face stopped him.

 _What is wrong with him?_   He saw Pam frown in confusion, though she had the commonsense to turn around.  She scanned the area, looking for the shooters or any more werewolves.

“Can I fix your shoulder?” Eric asked quietly.  He felt humiliated at having to ask this of his Maker.

For a second he actually thought Godric would say ‘No’.  But to his immense relief, Godric nodded.  Barely.

Eric gripped Godric's shoulder to realign it, and Godric didn’t even blink when it popped back into place.  Cautiously, he pulled Godric's arm over his shoulder, keeping low so he didn't lift Godric clear off his feet.   

In less than five seconds, Pam was behind the wheel of the car and Eric was pushing Godric into the backseat.

A bullet ripped through Eric's shoulder.  He bellowed in pain and swung around.  No-one there.  He looked up, but couldn't see anyone hovering in the air either.  _Someone’s out there, but who?_

The shot had gone clean through and he could see a silver bullet was wedged in the ground.  He glared at the offending bullet while his shoulder healed and realised there was a picture etched into the silver.  Squinting, he could make out a bull’s head and part of a Greek word.

"Are you alright, my Child?"

Eric found it laughable that Godric was concerned about _him_. 

"Eric!" Pam yelled.  "Come the **fuck** on!"

Ignoring the pain, he snatched the bullet up and put it in his pocket, and slid in next to Godric in the backseat.  Baffled, he watched Godric unsteadily put on his seatbelt. 

Godric glanced over at Eric, frowning.  "You should put your seatbelt on," he chided.  He closed his eyes. 

In the front seat, Pam snickered and the car was moving quickly down the drive.

"Who were the shooters, Pam?" Eric asked again, ignoring Godric's ridiculous comment.  He looked out the back window, but couldn't see anyone.  They were alone on the road. "And turn that fucking music off."

It would take them maybe two hours to get back to Shreveport.  Plenty of time to find out what she knew and damned if he was going to listen to that crap. 

"I spoke with Ruby earlier-”

“Ruby?”  Eric was horrified.  “You told Ruby about this?  Pam, if you-”

“Would you shut up for a minute?  I **just** asked her if she knew what had happened to Russell’s property seeing as Sophie-Anne is having all that trouble with his estate.”

 _That will still ignite Ruby's interest_ , Eric thought grimly, but he relented.  “And?” 

“She said that Russell's properties are all under watch, but not by vampire guards.  “She said ‘ _something’_ else has been hired."  She grimaced.  "Apparently every record of him only goes back about fifteen hundred years.  They might have hired a demon to investigate?" 

There were less than fifteen vampires over a thousand years old in the New World, and of those, Godric had always been thought the oldest.  _It must have been a nasty shock to Aulus, Hannibal and Aemilia to find out how old Russell truly is._  

Eric sighed.  "So why the hell were they shooting at us?"

"Eric, technically we attacked on _their_ territory."

"Oh, right.”  He frowned.  “Why not the wolves?"

She crinkled her nose in thought.  "I don't know," she finally said.  "To find out what they do?  Hell, maybe Russell hired them.  That was all Ruby knew."

Eric snorted scornfully.  “All she knew, or all she would say?” he said pointedly.  As far as he was concerned, Ruby Edmonton was not to be trusted, friend of Pam's or not.

Pam scowled.  “Fuck you.”

He leaned back, wondering what these unseen shooters would report back to... whoever.  _We’ve made it this far and haven’t been killed.  Perhaps their orders don’t permit them to leave Russell's property._ He smiled wryly.   

“Well, I only killed five wolves,” he said.  "How many did you get?"

Keeping her eyes on the road, Pam pulled something out of her back pocket and tossed it to him.  A digital camera.

Eric turned it on and began flicking through the pictures.  Pictures of the dead werewolves, all in their human form, some just by themselves, a few in groups.  There were twenty three pictures.  He counted twenty eight corpses.

He glanced up, not following.  She smiled at him in the rear vision mirror.  "Little Ryan Hanson said there were 'maybe forty’ at the house and we didn’t smell that many.  We’ve missed some." She focused on the road again.  "So Ryan is going to have to tell me who we missed so I can track them down."  She smiled brightly, pleased at the prospect of getting all the wolves.

Watching Godric worriedly, Eric waited for the wounds to mend, but they showed no signs of healing.  The near empty veins showing through his ghostly white skin were dull blue; considering how much silver had been pressed into the open wounds, Eric thought it was a wonder that Godric didn't have silver poisoning.     

They drove along in silence for awhile, passing a few cars.  Rowdy teenagers, people returning home from their night out.  Pam slowed when they saw a cop car, but it passed them by.  A billboard advertising outlet shopping caught Pam's attention.

"You still owe me new shoes.  Two pairs now, actually."  Sick of hearing about shoes, Eric's fangs lengthened in annoyance. 

She paused at a red light, nails tapping impatiently on the steering wheel as she waited for the light to change.  "And Godric, if you're bleeding all over my backseat, you're buying me a new car."

Eric kicked the back of her seat. 

At another red light, Pam hit the breaks a little harder than necessary, getting her own back.  Eric slammed forward.  "Dammit, Pam!"

"I told you to wear your seatbelt," Godric said as Eric rubbed his head.  Pam snickered again. 

"Oh, shut up," he snapped to both of them.

"So, who put you in the chains?" Pam demanded, taking advantage of Godric suddenly speaking to start questioning him. 

"I don't know," Godric said.  "I woke up surrounded by werewolves."

"That's all you remember?" Eric pressed.

"I remember everything, Eric."  Godric sounded incredibly weary.  "Just the werewolves." He opened his eyes and looked at Eric.  "And the pain."  From the look on his face, Eric realised his Maker had more to say, but didn’t want to say it in front of Pam.

"Well, that's incredibly unhelpful," Pam muttered, ignoring Eric when he kicked the back of her chair again.  "Who the hell could possibly bring a vampire back from the dead?"  She continued drumming her fingers on the steering wheel as she thought.

She sat up a little straighter.  "Eric, do you know why Russell was carrying Talbot's remains around in that jar?"

"No.”  He recalled the crystal jar full of red slime.  “Why?"

"Ginger gave me the empty jar," Pam explained.  "I checked the security tapes.  Sookie emptied it into the disposal."  Pam actually looked impressed.  "Girl has a mean streak in her."

"What?"  Eric had no idea what she was talking about, though such a sadistic action by Sookie was mildly interesting. 

"He seemed to think that he could bring Talbot back using Sookie's blood," she said.  "He was yelling something in the background, I couldn't make it out though."  She was uneasy.  "Russell must know that a vampire can be brought back to life and now a formerly dead Godric is sitting in my car, wearing his seatbelt.  It's definitely Russell.  He's done _something_."

"Sookie's blood didn't do this," he pointed out sharply.

They must have run over something to make the can bounce because suddenly Godric's face was full of pain. 

"Why would I be of any benefit to Russell Edgington?" he whispered, looking at Eric as he spoke.  Anxiously, Eric reached for him, but Godric jerked away, hitting his shoulder on the inside of the car door. 

"I think he wants me to suffer," Eric said, guilt rising in him as Godric grimaced in pain, "and he's using you to do that."

"I don’t think that makes sense," Pam argued.  "What's the point in bringing Godric back then?  Wouldn't that make you... well, happy?"

Seeing Godric maimed like this upset him greatly, true, but for a vampire, these wounds weren't that serious.  _And I won’t deny that having Godric again makes me happy_.  Eric sat up. 

"Russell's older than Godric," he said, looking at Pam in the mirror. 

She nodded slowly.  "He’s a lot stronger.  He could easily kill Godric."

"And Godric could easily kill me," Eric said grimly.

Godric looked back and forth between them.  "Your reasoning for...”  His voice become unsteady and he doubled over, clutching at his chest.   

Pam glanced back frantically, catching Eric's eye, clearly wondering why he wasn’t feeding Godric his blood.  Eric shrugged helplessly at her.    Cautious, Eric touched Godric's leg.  Godric raised his head slightly, his grey eyes intent on Eric's hand.  He swallowed and shakily sat up a little straighter.

He started again.  “Your reasoning for this is for me to simply kill Eric?"

"If I wanted to make someone suffer, I would probably do something like that," Eric said truthfully.  _Or the other way round._

Godric stared at him.  "You would make a child suffer by having their parent kill them?" 

Anyone else might have thought he sounded slightly surprised, but Eric knew Godric better than that.  The tightness in his jaw gave him away.  He was upset.

 

_You make me bleed, my child.  So much hatred._

_This is who I am, Godric.  This is what you made!_

 

Eric let go, contemptuous of Godric's hypocrisy.

Oblivious, Pam kept thinking out loud.  "Actually, Godric's probably just the icing on the cake.  He'd make you kill me first."  She continued to ramble.  "Or me kill you.  Or Godric kill me.  Or Eri-"

"Enough," Eric said sharply and Godric looked out the window.  "It won't happen.  Russell isn't a threat now."

"Thank god," Pam muttered.  She sighed.  "We still have to keep an eye on Sophie-Anne and the Authority."

"I know," Eric said, thinking of Ruben's too quick betrayal _.  Time to send Chow to look._   It was a simple, straightforward text.

_‘Search Ruben's apartment.  Find out why he hasn't come into Fangtasia.’_

They fell into silence.  Pam checked the mirrors every so often, looking to see if they were being followed, chewing her bottom lip nervously.  Eric continued to watch Godric, waiting to see if he would heal.  When the occasional bump in the road caused the seatbelt to press against the hole in his chest, he would close his eyes briefly.  It was the only sign Eric saw that Godric felt pain.

After a while, Godric glanced sideways at him.  "Watching will not make me heal any faster, Eric."

 _Faster?  You haven’t healed the slightest bit._   Godric didn't sound irritated though, more concerned that the injuries were upsetting him. 

Perhaps wisely, Pam chose that moment to turn the music back on, but Eric didn’t complain, even though he was forced to listen to Michael Bolton this time.

The sun would rise in just over three hours.  Under any other circumstances, he would have told Pam to stay so she could feed off his blood, regain her strength, but tonight she would have to find sustenance elsewhere.  He was grateful that Pam knew him well enough to guess this.  The club would be closing in just under an hour and there would still be some humans there, hoping to get lucky with one of the vampires finishing their shifts. 

She pulled up beside Eric's house.

Eric went to help Godric out of the car, but Godric shook him off.  He moved slowly, but surely.  Eric sighed and went to the driver’s window. 

Pam looked tired and she smelled of dried blood, her own and that of the werewolves she'd killed.    

"Will you stay at Fangtasia?" he asked.  She made a face. 

"After this shitty night?" she scoffed.  "I want a shower, a facial, and my own damn bed."

The car rocked slightly as Godric finally managed to get himself out.  He looked at the house, holding his damaged arm close to the gaping wound in his chest.

"We need to think of something," she sighed.  "I'm tired of worrying about the Authority and Sophie-Anne.  I’m too old for this bullshit."

"I know," Eric said, nodding in agreement.  Unfortunately, his main concern was now looking at the garden.  "If you can get me out of this, I'll buy you all the stupid shoes you want."

That made her laugh.  "I get you out of this, you're buying me all the clothes I want for the next thousand years."

"Deal."  He became deadly serious.  "Be careful."

She glanced over at Godric and her smile faded.  "How could they do that?" she asked softly.

He thought about the werewolves from last night, realising he wasn't even sure who had cleaned them up.  He hoped it wasn't Ginger.  If they glamoured her much more, the woman was going to end up brain dead.  Then who would come up with all the excellent ideas for the club?  _Certainly not Chow._

Eric shrugged.  "We've done worse."

"To humans," she protested. 

"Does that excuse your cruelty?" Godric said icily.  He turned to look at her, his eyes full of contempt.

"God, he hasn't changed," Pam sighed disgustedly, unfazed by his reproval.  She gave Eric a thin smile.  "Have fun with that."

Eric watched her leave, unable to help feeling anxious.  Deep down, he knew she'd be fine.  Pam was a born survivor, but she was his.  He worried.  _Perhaps I’ll buy her the shoes anyway.  And I still owe her 'something expensive.'_

He turned around and saw Godric looking east.  There was no hint of the sun yet, but Godric's eyes were full of longing.  Eric felt a chill run down his spine.

"Shall we go inside?" he said, pulling out his keys.  Distracted from his reverie, Godric glanced at Eric and slowly nodded. 

Eric went to help him, but Godric jerked away, very nearly unbalancing himself as he refused Eric's offer of help.  Watching his Maker as he shuffled along, Eric began to grow anxious about what the continuous rejections might mean.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Godric stood in the living room, contrasting gruesomely with all the delicate furnishing around him.  He was still holding his ruined arm close, shaking with the immense effort it had taken to get in the door.  He didn't sit, just looked around, taking in the ridiculous white furniture without comment.

"I don't think any of my clothes will fit you properly," Eric said, for lack of anything else to say. 

Godric glanced down at himself.  All he was wearing was the tattered remains of white pants.  At least, they'd been white to begin with.  Eric realised suddenly that they were the same pants that Godric had been wearing on the roof of the hotel. 

Godric looked up.  "It doesn't matter," he said calmly, his voice still hoarse and faint.  Something on the table caught his attention for a few seconds, and then his eyes flickered on to something else.

A knot formed in Eric's stomach.  He wanted so badly to pretend that this was an echo of centuries old conversations, teasing Godric about his indifference to clothing.  Freezing winters and Godric wandering around dressed in next to nothing. 

But Eric knew that wasn't what Godric meant now.  He tried again.

"I'll fix your leg."  The bone sticking out of his shin had teeth marks on it.  _They've even licked the marrow out_ , he realised, repulsed.  He reached out to fix it, still trying to figure out how the hell Godric was able to move at all.

"It doesn't matter," Godric said again, pulling away from him. 

The optimism he’d felt at being allowed to fix the dislocated shoulder faded and the knot in his stomach tightened further.  He hoped the bond between them had weakened enough for Godric to be unable to sense his emotions because all he felt right now was despair.

"Well, at least sit down," Eric said, wishing he didn't sound so annoyed.  Godric didn't seem to have a problem with that and began shuffling awkwardly to sit on the sofa.  He carefully pushed a ruffled cushion out of the way as he sat.  His grey eyes continued to roam the room, still taking everything in.  He seemed rather... amused with the decorations. 

Cautiously, Eric sat next to him, expecting Godric to tell him to stop.  He didn't. 

 

_I will keep you alive by force.  
Even if you could, why would be so cruel?  
_ _Godric, don't do it._ __  
  


"What do you remember?" Eric asked tentatively.  Silence. 

"Godric?"

They sat there for almost an hour before Godric spoke, his voice even fainter now.

"I remember burning," Godric finally said, looking down at the mangled stump where his hand had been.  "I remember thinking of your face as I closed my eyes.  Then it was dark."       

"Just dark?" Eric asked.  _Is that all there is?  Darkness_?  Eric knew that Godric had always thought that death meant peace.  If that was true and to then be pulled away from that...  _I don’t even want to imagine what that might mean_. 

"Yes... no... yes." Godric struggled for words.  "It was..."  He shook his head, unable to explain.  "Then I realised I could feel something touching me."  He shuddered.  "I opened my eyes.  It was bright and painful.  I don't know how long it took before I realised what was happening to me."

He looked at Eric for the first time.  "How... how long has it been?"

Now Eric lowered his eyes, fiddling with something on the coffee table, wishing he didn't have to answer this.  "Twenty-six nights since you burned."

Godric's eyes widened in disbelief.  "Twenty-six nights?  That's all?"

It was a stupid wooden bird.  Eric set it down, turning his head away so he didn't have to see the look of shocked dismay on his Maker's face.  "Yes."

Forgetting his leg, Godric stood up.  It promptly buckled under his weight, and Eric heard bones snapping in another part of his leg.  Godric fell to the floor, silently crying out in pain.  Eric rushed to his side, but when Godric cringed away from him, he stopped.

"Godric, please," Eric begged softly, remaining at a cautious distance.  "It's beneath you to suffer like this."

Godric shook his head stubbornly, and for the life of him, Eric could not figure out why Godric would want to endure the pain.  He sat back; now that he had begged and been denied, he knew it was pointless to prolong the argument.  Godric would not change his mind. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Eric saw a few tiny droplets of Godric's blood on the sofa.  They were bright against the white cushion.  Watching as Godric silently shook with pain, he wanted to cry. 

“Godric, please, just tell me why you won’t...” Eric stopped, appalled.

Godric’s left fang was missing. 

Eric's fury with Godric's stubborn refusal overcame him and he punched Godric square in the jaw. 

As Godric blinked in shock, Eric ripped at his own wrist and pressed the bleeding wound against Godric's mouth, gripping his hair, trying to force him forward.  Immediately, Godric went rigid, pressing his lips together, his fury matching Eric's.

The wound would heal over in a few seconds.  Eric growled.  "Drink."

Godric shook his head, resisting.  Normally, he would have effortlessly thrown Eric off him, but now he was so weak that he was barely able to pull his head away.  Frightened at seeing his Maker so weak, Eric looked at him despairingly, wishing he didn't have to do this.

He let go of his hair and dug his fingers into Godric's chest.  Godric cried out and Eric's blood trickled into his mouth. 

Godric closed his eyes as thousands of years of bloodthirsty instinct took over.  Eric felt Godric's remaining fang sink into his skin and with his good hand, he pulled Eric's arm closer, drinking deeply.  Kissing Godric's shoulder lightly, Eric smiled in grateful relief. 

Then Godric's eyes snapped open and Eric could see rage and, to his horrified astonishment, self hatred in the grey depths.

_...  Why would you **betray** me and have me do **this**? _

Stunned by the direct link between their minds, Eric opened his mouth to say something, be it protest or apologise, but couldn't get any words out. 

Abruptly, Godric let go.  Eric blinked slowly, dazed for a few seconds as the bite healed.  Beside him, Godric made a small choked noise.

Eric quickly grabbed him, struggling to hold Godric steady as he seized violently.  Eric grimaced as he watched bones in Godric's forearm regrow, first bone and cartilage extending from the stump, knitting together, veins snaking out, and flesh regrowing.  He knew from experience that it was agonising.  Regrowing limbs could hurt more than actually losing the limb.

Eric cradled Godric's head in his lap as his Maker writhed.  He smiled weakly, trying to distract Godric from the pain. 

"You remember the last time we had to grow new bones?" he whispered in Godric's ear.  "When you decided you wanted to play with sharks?  It was worse then – you had to regrow your leg because the stupid shark bit it off."

Godric made a noise that might have been a laugh.  Eric reached over, carefully pushing the leg bone back in and then the cracked ribs.  The flesh healed over, making a disconcerting wet noise as it did so.  He tried to hold Godric still as the seizure continued.  

"I'm sorry, Godric," he whispered as Godric's eyes glazed over in pain.  "I had to."

Godric passed out.  _That's good_ , Eric thought numbly, _now he can't feel anything_. 

The more his body healed, the less violent his convulsing became.  Another ten minutes later, Godric was still unconscious, but fully healed.  

He carried Godric downstairs, placing him on the bed and sat on the floor.  He felt a little weak, Godric must have taken a lot of blood.  _Well, he'd starved himself before burning, and he's sustained massive injuries since_...

 _What would you call it?  Reborn?  Resurrected?_   It didn't matter.  The important thing was that Godric was healed.

He considered calling Pam, make sure she was alright.  But she was probably enamoured with some fangbanger at the moment.  It would be rude to interrupt.  _Plus she'd be pissed off at me for worrying too much_.

After taking the strange bullet out of his pocket and setting it on a small corner table in his bedroom, Eric quickly stripped off his dirtied clothes and pulled on a pair of sweatpants.  _Odd that I’m wearing clothing while in my own house_.  If he was alone, he would just wander around naked.  But it seemed more deferential to keep some clothes on while Godric was here, which was even odder considering they'd spent plenty of time together naked.

He scrounged through the clothes on the floor, searching for something that might fit Godric.  He bit his lip, remembering what Godric had said before.  He stopped. 

Eric knew with grim certainty that Godric's desire to meet the sun had not left him.  He would burn again, no doubt with the same calm as last time.  Probably tomorrow morning, assuming he even waited until dawn.  There was nothing stopping him from walking out in the middle of the day.  That thought made Eric tremble. 

A noise from the bed made him look up.  Godric had propped himself up on his elbows, looking around in uneasy confusion, as if expecting werewolves to come out from the shadows and attack him.  He saw Eric and relaxed a little.

"No frills," he said slowly, his voice soft as always, but now strong.  Eric laughed.

"I didn't let Pam decorate my bedroom."  He saw a pair of short length sweats that would fit Godric.  "I really should redo the upstairs."

Godric didn't argue that as he sat up properly.  He noticed his new hand and flexed it several times, studying the fingers closely.  He inspected his palm and then scratched the back of his neck.  He didn't even bother looking at his repaired chest or his leg.  Save the haircut, Godric looked no different to the day he did when he was made a vampire, over two thousand years ago. 

"It's almost dawn," he said as Eric stood up. 

Eric pretended he didn't hear him, tossing the pants down beside him.  "Here."

Godric ignored them. 

"What did you do?"

"I killed Russell Edgington’s lover, Talbot."  Eric hated how guilty he sounded, like a chastised little boy.

Godric's piercing grey eyes widened.  "Why?"

"To make Russell suffer.  Russell was the one that killed my human family." He heard Russell's jeering laughter and got angry all over again. 

Shaking his head, Godric gripped his sides, hunching over.  Eric watched him worriedly, anxious that Godric was still in pain.  _Even after drinking all that blood_?  He’d begun to shake violently. 

Eric ran upstairs and heated up two bottles of Tru Blood.  He tapped his foot impatiently as the bottles went around and around.  _Will I fall to my knees, begging Godric not to kill himself?  If I rest, will I wake up and find Godric gone_?  He shuddered at the thought as he took the warmed bottles out of the microwave.

Godric didn’t lift his head until Eric held out the bottle in front of him.  He stared at it blankly, as if not understanding what he was meant to do with it, but after a moment, he sat up a little straighter and accepted the bottle.  Eric waited until Godric had drunk a few mouthfuls before he lifted his own bottle to his lips.  Godric's hands slowly stopped shaking as he swallowed the synthetic blood. 

Godric stopped suddenly, staring across the room at nothing and his face crumpled like he was about to cry. 

Eric tensed.  He’d seen this anguished expression on his Maker’s face three times before. 

 _Don’t think about them_ , Eric reminded himself sternly, wishing he could wipe them from his memory forever.   

Just as suddenly at the look appeared, it was gone.  Godric finished drinking and looked at Eric calmly.

"Did you think of the consequences?"

"Sort of." 

 _I didn’t think Russell would kill someone on live television_.  _Or do this_.

Eric thought Godric was about to say something, but instead, he picked up the pants and went into the bathroom.  His movements were still a little stiff, as if he were unused to his body moving.  The pipes groaned as the shower was turned on.  Eric sat on the bed, thinking of Russell.

 _Will I have to dig him out of the cement to find out what he'd done to bring Godric back_?  It was the logical step to take, he knew, but he didn't want to.  _What if Russell **does** attack Godric in front of me, doing the same thing that I’d done to him_?  Godric killing himself had hurt enough; Eric did not want to endure the pain of seeing someone else he loved die at Russell's hands.  Anger flared in him again.  _Anyone who dares to hurt Godric or Pam will suffer more than Russell does now_.

Eric glanced towards the bathroom and decided to try something he hadn't had a chance to do in decades.  He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes, focusing on every sound he could hear. Confident that he could hear everything, he focused even harder, his mind reaching out for something.  More specifically, he reached for some _one_. 

For centuries, their bond had been so close that their thoughts and emotions wove together.  Being so close to his Maker, sensing each other in such an intimate way, curled up beside each other, listening to the other's unguarded thoughts...  It was such a feeling of _belonging_.

Then one night, Godric had cut his mind off and Eric hadn't been able to hear him again unless Godric wished it. 

But Eric ignored that particular detail for the moment.  He wanted to see if he could make the link work again. 

For a few seconds, there was simply silence; he'd expected that, but persisted.  Perhaps he was too tired, and it wouldn't work, but he wanted to feel something from Godric.  And then he did.

For less than a second he could sense something cold and dark, bleak and anguished, an aching loneliness and near unbearable grief.  A shudder ran through him and he felt like he would scream or weep. 

As suddenly as it appeared, the feeling was gone.  Silence again and Eric nearly gasped it was so welcome. 

A faint whoosh of air made him realise that Godric was next to him and a small hand was gripping his shoulder.  Eric opened his eyes, knowing that Godric had realised what he'd been trying to do and had come out to stop him.  He didn’t say anything though.  Dressed in the old pants and with his hair still wet, Godric just stared down at him.

Eric glanced at the pale hand and was suddenly reminded of their early years together, how Godric had disliked Eric touching him.  _We can’t be back to that_.  He lifted his head slowly, looking up at his Maker uncertainly.   

Godric let go and sat down cross legged on the bed. 

"Russell and Talbot had been together for almost seven hundred years," Godric said softly.  " _We_ were together longer than that."  He tilted his head to the side.  "I don't understand why you would want to destroy that love."

This sounded oddly like that first vision of Godric he'd seen, declaring ' _Love is all_.' 

A touch of impatience crept into Eric's voice.  "I told you why."

"Your grief for your parents and sister is not the same thing as grief for a lover and friend," Godric retorted sharply.   

"You have had over a thousand years to move on from your grief," he continued.  "Do you even cry for them now?  No, you don't.  But Russell will weep every night for what you have taken away from him because he loved Talbot more than anything."

"Good!" Eric snapped.  "That was the whole point."

"It is not the same, Eric.  You know that." He sighed sadly.  "It was cruel."

"Cruel?" Eric repeated incredulously, sitting up.  Outraged at the sheer audacity of Godric calling him cruel, he waited to see if Godric would apologise.  When Godric remained silent, staring stonily at him, Eric lost it.

"So even though **we** were together for longer than they were, and **you** know how much I love you, **you** still killed yourself."  He looked away. 

"And what's worse, you **would** have doneit without even saying goodbye," he added softly, unable to hide the pain.  "Is that not cruel?"

"Yes," Godric acknowledged.  "It was." 

Hearing him admit it did not make it any easier, in fact, it made it a thousand times worse.  _Godric did it deliberately, not caring how I would feel_.  He thought about the horrible misery he'd sensed in his Maker before.   He felt something similar now.  A lump rose in his throat and Eric turned away, not wanting Godric to see him if tears began.

Godric reached out, turning his face back and stroked Eric's cheek tenderly.  Eric leaned into his cold hand, but avoided looking directly at Godric. 

"What is it that you want me to say, my Child?  That I'm sorry for meeting the sun?  I'm not.  That I love you?  You know I do, more than anything."  Godric ran his thumb over Eric's lips.  "There was nothing more to say between us."

Eric shook his head.  Then Godric startled Eric by replacing his thumb was with his lips. 

 _Is it possible to forget how someone else's lips felt, even if you had kissed them more times that you could count_?  Godric hadn't kissed him in a long time, but Eric wondered how he could have forgotten that Godric's lips were so soft, cool, and gentle.

Godric smoothed Eric's hair back from his face, pressing soft kisses onto his neck.  He nudged Eric onto his back.

"You will always have my heart," he murmured.  Godric's lips drifted down, kissing Eric's bare chest.  He let his fangs scratch Eric's skin, and then slowly licked up the blood.  "You are all I have ever wanted.  The only one who could walk with me through the night."

"I know that."

Godric propped himself up so he could look at Eric's face.

"You see?" he said gently.  "There is nothing more that needs to be said.  We have said it all to each other already."

Eric shook his head again, closing his eyes.

"Then tell me."  Godric's soft voice was gentle and soothing in his ear.  His fingers moved through Eric's hair as he waited.

“I don’t want to lose you," Eric finally whispered.  "Not again." 

Godric's fingers went still.

"Open your eyes," Godric commanded gently.  His other hand came up and he cradled Eric's face.  Hesitantly, Eric opened his eyes, and was surprised by the intense way that Godric was looking at him.

"You will **never** lose me," Godric said.  The absolute certainty in his Maker's voice sent chills down Eric spine.  "My blood runs through your veins.  I am always with you." 

He let Eric go and sat back.  "This I promise you."     

He took Godric's hand and pulled him close, putting his arms around him and clung to his back, nuzzling his face into Godric's neck.  He inhaled Godric's familiar scent. 

"I know," Eric whispered and gently bit into Godric's neck.

Red ecstasy flowed into his mouth.  He might not remember what it felt like to kiss Godric, but he could remember how he tasted.  Though he only took a single mouthful, Eric felt dizzy from the pleasure.  His head rested against Godric's shoulder as he gasped faintly, overwhelmed, his body shuddering. 

"Always," Godric whispered against Eric's skin.  He paused, waiting. 

"And forever," Eric finished, smiling slowly.  He kissed Godric's shoulder.  Eric tried to remember the last time Godric had said that to him.  _It must have been over a hundred and fifty years ago, just before Godric made me leave_.

"Always and forever," Godric sighed, and his kisses became more urgent.  Eric felt his ribs begin to ache, Godric was holding him so tight.  He felt the sting of Godric's fangs against his bottom lip.  One kiss slid into another, each more demanding than the last.  Eric opened his mouth, inviting him in.  Godric sighed, pressing himself closer and crushing his lips against Eric's.  Eric ran his hands over Godric's back, wanting to touch as much skin as he possibly could, smiling at its suddenly familiar coldness.      

Godric drew away from his lips, placing a trail of kisses down his neck, along his shoulder and down his arm.  He stopped at Eric's wrist, teasing the area with his fangs.  His eyes flickered to Eric's face, and then sunk his fangs deep into Eric's wrist.

Eric gasped, arching his back off the bed.  He could feel it – the link was there again.  Just as Godric had shown his rage, now he showed Eric just how deep his love went. 

Though Godric had drunk from him many, many times, he had never felt anything like this, had never even imagined that love could be this powerful.  _I don't want to lose this_ , Eric thought, moving so that Godric was on top of him once more.  He bucked as Godric drew deeper from the wound. 

_I promise, **I promise** , that you never will.  I am always with you.  Always and forever._

Eric felt tears roll down his cheeks as he heard Godric's telepathic promise.  Shaking just as Eric had, Godric retracted his fangs and began licking the red tears away.  He smiled down at Eric and Eric could only look back at him in awe.

“I love you.”  Eric kissed him again and then Godric's soft, cold skin was beneath his lips.  He bit into Godric's neck, blood flowing into his mouth as well as down his chin.  He drank hungrily and Godric twisted his fingers into Eric's blonde hair, as if trying to hold him in place. 

After their sweet, loving words, Eric found that he didn’t want to be gentle.  He wanted Godric with such a primal intensity that it almost hurt.  He tilted his head to the side and Godric growled softly before sinking his fangs into the curve of Eric's shoulder.  Eric gasped, finally letting go, shaking as he felt his own blood trickle between them, smearing between them and he couldn’t recall ever being so hard.

Godric licked the wound gently until it healed over and lifted his mouth to Eric's.  “Kiss me again.”

Eric snapped his head back to his mouth and his ecstasy deepened.  He ran his tongue over Godric's fangs, making sure the cut was deep so the blood flowed into Godric's eager mouth.  Kissing Godric was such joy, such bliss, and Eric hoped it would never end. 

Without removing his mouth from Godric's, Eric was able to take off their clothing, vaguely wondering why he’d even bothered with it to begin with.  He pressed up against him and smiled against Godric's mouth when he discovered his Maker was as hard as he was.

“Please,” he gasped as Godric ran his tongue up his neck.  His eyes flicked to the small table beside the bed, his hips grinding against Godric’s.  Godric nodded in understanding. 

Eric shivered in pleasure as Godric leaned over and gently bit first one nipple and then the other.  He arched up against Godric's mouth.

A long groan escaped his lips as Godric entered him slowly.  Godric smiled.  “Even now, you are the most beautiful person I have ever seen.”

Eric remembered when Godric had said that to him the first time they had been together.  He ran his fingers over Godric's cheek.  “So are you.”

There was blood around Godric's mouth and Eric leaned forward to tenderly lick it off.  When he was done, Godric began to thrust gently. 

He let Godric move back and forth on his own for a few minutes and then began to move with him.  There was only an ecstasy that bordered on pain and Eric could feel every lustful motion Godric made within him or against him.  Godric's lips pressed against his neck, his hands running over Eric's shoulders and arms. After several minutes, Godric pulled his mouth away, pressing his forehead against Eric's, his eyes partly closed. 

Godric's thrusts became slower, but deeper, and Eric groaned along with him.  He could feel Godric getting as close as he was.  Eric's fingers dug into the sheet, willing his body to behave.  _Not yet_.

Eric looked up, smiling when Godric's grey eyes met his.  Godric's eyes had already taken on that dazed look he got whenever he was about to lose control of himself.  It only ever happened when he was with Eric.

“Harder,” Eric said softly, wanting to see that look.  Suddenly, Godric's hand grasped him, stroking firmly, and Eric moaned. 

The smooth, steady rhythm slowly disappeared, transforming into unrestrained thrusting as Godric's control was lost.  Godric cried out softly with each movement of his hips.  Eric groaned as waves of hot bliss rolled through every part of him, pressing himself against Godric. 

He pressed his wrist against his Maker’s mouth and Godric sank his fangs in.  He grabbed Godric's neck and bit, even harder than before if that were possible.  Then they both cried out, shuddering violently together.

“Always,” Eric whispered as Godric rested his head on Eric's shoulder. 

Godric lifted his head, brushing blonde hair out of Eric's face.  “And forever.” 

Eric closed his eyes, pulling Godric closer and smiling when Godric began kissing him again. _He loves kissing so much_. 

Full dawn broke and Godric paused, his lips going still against Eric's neck.  Eric opened his eyes in time to see his Maker’s face as he realised he’d missed going with the sunrise.

"I can't imagine how hard this must be for you," Eric found himself saying, his voice shaking, "but it will be over soon."

Godric looked up.  Eric couldn't meet his eyes, choosing to look at the ceiling instead.  Last time, Godric had asked him to let him go.  He would not give his Maker a reason to do so again.  _I will let him go_.  _No matter how much it kills me inside_.

Godric ran his fingers through Eric's hair again, studying him.  "I hate to cause you grief," he said quietly.

After a moment, Eric was able to look at his beloved Maker.  He pulled him close. “We have had this chance to say goodbye."   

Godric kissed him so light that Eric thought he might have imagined it.  “Yes.”

He settled into the crook of Eric's arm and closed his eyes.  Eric brought his fingers to Godric's back and began tracing over the lines of the tattoo.  Godric sighed softly, pressing closer, the contented smile that Eric loved so much settling over his face.  Eric smiled when Godric stirred enough to give him a final kiss in the corner of his mouth.  A few minutes later, he was sound asleep.

Looking down at the eternally youthful face, Eric was comforted that there was a tiny bit of colour back in Godric's cheeks, and tried to remember how it had looked the first time he'd seen it. 

He recalled the blood covered face with the old, yet impish grey eyes leaning over him, whispering.  A blood-thirsty boy that had chanced upon him on a moonlit battlefield and been intrigued enough to offer him eternal night.  That close to death, he'd had trouble concentrating, but he'd understood the significance of the offer. 

_I'll be your father, your brother, and child._

 

Between them, the words had come to mean something more.  So, so much more.  Still holding Godric, Eric drifted off to sleep, amazed that someone could love him so much and he could love them just as much in return. 


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**_Spring.  1212 AD.  Morocco_ **

****

Eric was annoyed, but unsurprised, that Godric made him wait until the following night before telling him what was said.

Some vampires woke instantly upon full dark, some groggily woke up a few minutes later, and others tended to sleep late.  Eric was a vampire that rose instantly and had always been amused that Godric was a late sleeper.   Tonight it just made him impatient, but knew from experience that trying to wake Godric up would only earn him a scowl and a sore shoulder. 

They’d rested by the river during the day, so Eric passed the time by rinsing the dirt off.  After retrieving his clothes from the nearby bushes, his eyes drifted towards the nearest village.  He was hungry.  At nearly three hundred years, he could go several days without feeding and not feel pain, but his hunger was ever present. 

He’d once asked his Maker if the hunger would ever go away.  Godric had looked at him, bewildered, and replied, _“Why would you want it to?”_

Eric sat on the bank of the river, looking thoughtfully towards the closest village, and considered going off to find a human to drink from.  But as much as Eric hated to admit it, he was a little reluctant to go by himself while surrounded by so many unfamiliar vampires.  Though with each nest they encountered, the vampires increasingly tended to be younger than he was and couldn’t order him around. 

 _Even less of the older ones now_ , he thought.  _Perhaps more vampires will be made to replace the dead_.  He smiled at the prospect of being able to order around younger vampires.

A cold hand touched the back of his neck and Eric jumped.  _I didn’t even hear him get up_!  He quickly raised his chin, loftily trying to pretend that he hadn’t been caught unawares.  Behind him, Godric chuckled, but didn’t berate him for being so slack in paying attention to his surroundings. 

Eric turned, looking him up and down.  “You’re filthy.”

“Good evening to you too, my Child.” 

Eric watched as his Maker pulled on his clothes, rolling his eyes when Godric didn’t bother washing the dirt off his white skin.  A half hearted shake of his head to loosen the dirt from his hair was about the extent of it.  When he was done, Godric sat down beside him.  They shared so much blood that their emotions were readily visible to the other – to the point of distraction as demonstrated the previous night – and now Eric could tell that his Maker seemed angry and frustrated about something.

“Well?” Eric demanded impatiently after Godric said nothing.  “What was the offer?”

Godric narrowed his eyes slightly at the sharpness of Eric's tone, but he did answer.  Despite the anger Eric felt from him, he spoke as calmly as he always did.

“The Triumvirate want to create a council to govern all vampires.”  Godric looked towards the amphitheatre.  “They offered me a place on it.”

“Like a council to advise the kings and queens?” Eric said, not sure he understood. “But most of the Royals we’ve met already have their own advisors.”  They’d also been pompous, arrogant bastards in most cases, but most royalty was like that.  With prestige came a sense of entitlement and most of these vampires had enjoyed it for centuries.

“They wish to do away with human titles and abolish the rule of the monarchs,” Godric said.  He raised an eyebrow when Eric burst into laughter. 

“Had any man come up to _me_ and demanded I just give up my throne, I would have run him through on the spot,” Eric snickered.  He shook his head, leaning back on his elbows.  _And why were they betting away kingdoms then_?   “No king or queen will just _relinquish_ their crown, Godric.  They will have a fight on their hands and these three have no army.”

“They have not gotten to be so old by sheer luck, my Child.  The Triumvirate know they are trying to achieve something difficult by killing kings and queens.” Godric shrugged.  “They’re vampires.  They have time.” 

 _Oh, so they’re just passing their kingdoms around until they don’t need them anymore_.  Eric snorted, unconvinced this whole idea would even work.  There were dozens of kings and queens scattered all over the world, each with dozens of nests loyal to them.  _What could this little council offer_? 

“They will have an army,” his Maker added.

Eric looked at Godric sharply.  “What do you mean, _will_ have?”

“Many of the ancient vampires on this side of the world have been killed in these games, Eric.  Young vampires sit in the arena cheering for the True Deaths of their elders.  Soon there will be no-one left willing to fight.  Before they leave, the young ones will praise the Triumvirate for the entertainment.”  Godric lay back as well, but his eyes never left the amphitheatre. 

“Then Aulus, Aemilia and Hannibal will make their suggestion to their new admirers.  The young vampires will be blinded by their admiration and agree to it.”

“They told you all this?” Eric found that hard to believe. 

“I can surmise their plan for myself.”  Godric's anger increased and Eric unwittingly leaned away. 

“And why you?”  This puzzled Eric.  They’d seen Godric fight only once.  It had been an impressive fight, but still, only a _single_ fight. 

Godric's fangs ran out and his hands balled into fists.  Eric couldn’t hide his astonishment.  For Godric, that was a huge reaction. 

“My young face,” Godric said softly.  “They want to keep me at their side because they think my supposed youth will instill confidence in others that were turned at such a young age to see another in such a position.  ”

Staring at Godric's hands, Eric wished for his Maker’s sake that they hadn’t come here.  _A pitiful urge to come here and now his freedom is threatened_...

He grunted in surprise and pain when Godric roughly jumped on top of him and pinned him to the ground by his throat with a single hand.  He looked up in shock. 

“Eric, I can **feel** your pity.”  Godric's voice was practically a snarl.  His grey eyes were dark with fury.

Eric would not have changed their bond for anything, but Godric had never attacked him for anything he’d felt or thought before! 

While trying to pull Godric's hand off his throat, Eric brought a leg up to try kicking him off, but his Maker caught sight of the movement and lashed out first with his foot.  The bone didn’t break, but Eric still hissed in pain.  He let go of Godric's arm and went for his eyes.  Fighting dirty was one of the precious few ways to gain the upper hand in a fight with Godric.

Size was the only other advantage he had over his Maker.  Godric jerked his head out of reach, but in doing so, he had to let go of Eric's throat.  With Godric no longer forcing him down, Eric was able to sit up quickly and push Godric off him, though he got the distinct impression that Godric merely _allowed_ him to do so. 

Godric crouched, as though about to lunge at him again, but to Eric's great relief, he stayed where he was.  Stupefied, Eric rubbed his aching throat, waiting for an explanation.  Godric pulled his legs up, practically curling into a ball, and hid his face. 

“I do not want your pity,” he muttered, as if that were an excuse for his uncharacteristic behaviour.  Now Eric he could sense that Godric's anger was directed inward.  He was furious with himself for letting his anger get the better of him. 

Staggering to his feet, Eric sputtered.  “Just because those three pissed you off doesn’t mean you can take it out on me!” he rasped.  When Godric didn’t even acknowledge his words, he added snidely, “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve pitied you, Godric.”

Instead of replying, Godric just looked at him and Eric felt the anger just... vanish.

For a moment Eric thought that Godric was worn out by his own intense fury, but Godric didn’t look tired or defeated.  He was as calm and composed as he always was.  As abruptly as he’d lost control of himself, he’d regained it.

It was unnerving that such anger could be cast aside so easily.  _It’s not **normal**_.  There were small irritations, and Godric forgot them as quickly as they occurred, but something like this?  _How can he just push this aside_?  As much as he loved his Maker, sometimes he was truly a mystery.

Godric stood up.  “I am sorry, my Child,” he said quietly.  “I should not have taken my anger out on you.  Can you forgive me?” 

Eric was still outraged, but he was glad to see Godric acting like himself again.  He was also intensely curious about the three vampires that had upset his unflappable Maker so badly.  He sighed and pulled Godric close, resting his cheek atop of Godric's head. 

“Of course, Godric.”

Godric remained stiff in his arms.  “I do not want to be pitied.”

Eric snorted.  “I am not apologising for that.”

“I do not want you to.”

Leaning back so he could watch Godric's face, Eric took Godric's wrist in his hand and soothingly stroked.  Godric sighed, closing his eyes.

As his fingers moved up and down, Eric whispered, “What do you want then?”

“My freedom,” Godric said without hesitation.  His eyes opened and smiled.  “And you.”

“ **Do** you want to be a part of their council?”

The smile faded and Godric shook his head.  “I crave the power that comes with killing humans.”  The shoulder with the hated red brand jerked.  “I do not want power over our people.” 

Eric found that curious, but didn’t ask why.  The question was too intimate and he knew it wasn’t a question that Godric would respond to.  And in all honesty, it wasn’t something that Eric wanted answered.  Though he accepted everything about his Maker, there were some parts of Godric's mind that were better left untouched.

“They can’t force you to be on this council,” Eric said slowly.  He thought of their callousness as they gambled on the lives on the fighters in the ring and their ruthless scheming.  “They’ll kill you if you refuse, won’t they?”

“Yes.”  Godric's fangs lengthened and he tilted his face to Eric's.  “There is only survival or death.”

Still not a credo that Eric fully believed in.  Eric pressed his lips to Godric's, relishing the feel of the soft skin in contrast to the sharp tips of his fangs.  He couldn’t help thinking that it was strange to talk of murder while caught up in the middle of passion.

 _The solution is simple then_.  “So we kill them.”  Eric smiled at the prospect of ripping out Aulus’s throat with his own fangs.  “Their plans of a council will die with them.”

Sighing with pleasure, Godric slowly moved his head sideways to draw Eric's mouth closer to his.  Running his nails upwards along Eric's back, Godric’s nails dragged through Eric's long, blonde hair.  But then he pulled away.

“The world changes,” Godric whispered, pressing his cheek to Eric’s. “We must change with it.  If it is not these three wanting to rule our world, then there will be another.”

The horrible reality of the situation hit Eric hard.  Godric wanted nothing to do with them and they would kill him for it.  Other than knowing their plans, there was no real threat posed, but he didn’t doubt that the Triumvirate would not accept the rejection, however polite.  _Survival or death_.

Eric lifted his head to look at Godric's face anxiously.  “How do we survive their plans then?  Run?” 

But he knew Godric had too much pride for that.  _Besides, they’d hunt us down and find us eventually_.

Godric didn’t even acknowledge Eric's suggestion.  “I’ve always stayed away from vampire politics.  I have no experience with this sort of thing.”     

“Well, seeing as your life depends on it, you’d better learn fast,” Eric said and Godric gave him a withering look.  Eric thought back to his human days.  “When I was a king, I would have first tried to reach a compromise with my enemies before going to war.”

“A compromise?” Godric repeated thoughtfully.  “The Triumvirate’s proposed rules are not too different to what most of the Royals have in place now,” he said slowly.  “They want to make them universal rules instead of kingdom rules.”   

Eric blinked, baffled.  “Why bother then?”

“They want power over powerful creatures.”  Godric smiled, cruelly proud.  “And what creatures are more godlike than us?”

Eric considered suggesting the demons they’d encountered over the years, but held his tongue.  He didn’t have anything else helpful to say. 

Suddenly his ever alert Maker turned around.  Two men and a woman had appeared on the outskirts of the village.  With barely any hesitation, they made their way over to the two vampires.  Godric let Eric go quickly and tensed, ready to attack.

With Godric watching the humans, Eric looked around the river bank suspiciously.  He and Godric had checked the area to make sure it would be safe for sleeping the day away, so to have these humans discover them was worrisome.  Either they had been lax in their assessment – and Godric never was - or they’d been followed. 

Once the humans were closer, Eric could see the dazed, hypnotised look on their faces.  He glanced sideways at his Maker.  “Do you suppose they’re gifts or assassins?”

Godric looked at Eric as though he’d just suggested they take a walk in the sun.  “ _Human_ assassins?”

Smiling, Eric extended his fangs fully and then lunged for the nearest man, sinking his fangs in deep.  The man was one of the humans whose blood was sweeter and rarer than most.  Gulping down the first delicious mouthful, Eric sighed in delight.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Godric break the neck of the other man, and grab the woman, burying his teeth in her neck.  His Maker closed his eyes, relishing the taste of her blood.  Apparently her blood was the same. 

“From Aemilia,” the man in Eric's arms suddenly mumbled.

“What?”  Though surprised, Eric let go reluctantly.  He’d severed a major vein; the man would bleed out in less than a minute.  _Such a waste_.

The human’s increasingly vacant eyes drifted to meet his.  “From Aemil...”  That was as far as he got.

Eric pushed the corpse aside in disgust.  “Helpful.”  Then he saw all the partially healed bite marks along the man’s arms and became uneasy.  “I hope we didn’t just kill three humans belonging to the queen.”

Godric didn’t look up until he was finished.  The human he was feeding from was also covered in bite marks.  But he was apparently unconcerned as he looked down at them scornfully, blood covering his face.  “They’re only humans.”

“Some vampires don’t take too kindly to others killing their pets,” Eric said pointedly.  “Least of all the Royals.”

Keeping humans as ‘pets’ was not something that appealed to Godric in the slightest, but he’d never stopped Eric from doing so.  Eric had tried it a few times, partly for the company and partly for the novelty, but quickly found it tiresome.

Instead of answering, Godric indifferently kicked the corpse of the woman into the hole they’d spent the day in, swiftly followed by the body of the man with the broken neck.  But he studied the man that Eric had briefly fed on.  He bent down.  “Aemilia sent them,” he mused, touching the man’s face.  “I wonder what she wants.”

 _I don’t care what the bitch wants_.  Eric pushed the man into the hole with his foot and looked down at his Maker.  “Godric, let’s just leave this place.  They’ll find someone else to be on their council and the kings and queens will kill them the second they hear of the plan.  We have nothing to worry about.”

Godric stood up slowly.  “I have always taken care of myself.  I have always done everything to ensure my freedom and never let another control me.”  He met Eric's eyes.  “I will not let them rule my life.  Or yours.”

“You don’t want to kill them,” Eric said cautiously, “and I take it that there is no compromising with them.  What do you propose then?”

Godric's brow furrowed, but there was no sign of his earlier fury.  “They’re Royals.  They must have other enemies.” 

“We’ll have to ask around to find out,” Eric pointed out, not looking forward to the task.  “And make sure that they don’t hear about it.”  Judging by the look on Godric's face, he wasn’t pleased with the idea either.

Eric held out a fist, signalling a chance game of morra.  “The winner speaks with Aemilia,” he said, “and the loser tracks down the enemies.  Agreed?” 

Godric raised his hand.  “Agreed.”

 

...

 

Hannibal had given the Queen a lavish house to stay in while the games were going on and so Eric already knew where her quarters were.  When he knocked on the door, he expected to be told that he would have to make some sort of appointment, assuming she even agreed to see him. 

A hand-maiden opened the door, looking up at him with green eyes.  She smiled politely.  “You’re Eric, aren’t you?”

He drew back, startled.  He’d never seen her before.  “Yes.  How did you know?”

She ignored his question.  “The Queen has been expecting you.  But you won’t have much time.  She has to leave shortly.”

 _Here I was thinking that I’d have to charm my way inside_ , he thought as she stepped aside to let him enter.  He looked her over quickly, committing her to memory in case he **did** have to win her over later.  She wore a plain white dress and her brown hair was tied back in a bun. 

“What’s your name?” he asked politely as she turned to lead him down a hall.

She glanced over her shoulder.  “Jantine.”  To his surprise, she stopped him in front of the heavy door and looked him over critically.  Then she smoothed out his shirt, her hands lingering on his chest.  “Better.”

He raised an eyebrow at her.

Jantine pushed the door.  “My Queen,” she announced, but that was all she said.

Eric stood in the doorway and his eyes widened in amazement.  It had been a very long time since he’d been in a room full of such luxury.  _Probably not since the Himalayas_. 

A huge dresser and a mirror dominated one wall, a massive bed was against another, and a shelf covered with ornaments was on the other.  Colourful tapestries covered the walls and in one corner there were three hypnotised human children chained to the wall.  None of them more than eight years old and they were covered with bite marks.

Eric remembered the sweetness of the child’s blood he’d killed in the days after he’d first been turned.  Clearly Aemilia enjoyed whenever she pleased.  He forced himself to look away from them.

There was nothing he could do for them.   

Queen Aemilia sat at the mirror, a hand-maiden on either side of her, one holding her makeup and the other held a hair comb.  He’d evidently interrupted her toilette.

But Aemilia was smiling when she met his gaze in the mirror, clearly pleased to see him. 

“Eric.”  She turned around, but didn’t get up.  “I wasn’t sure if you or Godric would come.  I’m glad you did though.  I much prefer your face.”

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Queen Aemilia,” he lied.  _But diplomatically_.  He bowed.  She didn’t invite him into the room so he remained standing by the door.  This was apparently enough servility to satisfy her.

She didn’t waste time with pleasantries.  “I assume Godric told you about our council and his intended place on it?”

“Yes.”  Eric nodded.  “It’s a great honour, your Highness.” 

Now her smile vanished completely, becoming a sneer.  “For the likes of him?  Yes, it is.” 

Eric was caught off guard by the scorn in her voice.  Aemilia turned to face the mirror and signalled to her hand-maiden to continue fixing her hair.  The maid nimbly formed braids, tying them on the top of Aemilia’s head.   

“I must confess that he was not my choice,” Aemilia continued, lifting a cheek for the other hand-maid to dust powder on.  “But Hannibal convinced Aulus and thus I was overruled.”  She shrugged.  “I don’t see how a common _slave_ could bring anything of value to our council.” 

Eric bit the inside of his cheek, trying to ignore the disrespect she showed his Maker.  Long ago, he’d pieced together aspects of what Godric's mortal life might have been like, but Aemilia was a fool to underestimate his Maker based on what he might have been in his very short human life.  _A very great fool_.

She frowned abruptly.  “Though I can’t figure out where he must have been captured from.  Those tattoos he has are very contradictory.  The ones on his arms look Celtic and the one on his back looks Oriental.”  She met his gaze in the mirror again.  “Has he told you where he came from?”

“No, your Highness,” Eric said politely, shaking his head.  It was a truthful answer.  Naturally, he’d asked Godric, back when he’d first been turned, and Godric had just ignored the question, as he did when Eric asked him anything about his mortal life.

Eric wondered why Aemilia was baiting him in this way.  More importantly, was he giving her the answers she wanted? 

 _What on earth would she have said if Godric had shown up_? 

The hand-maiden was forced to stop braiding her hair as Aemilia turned around to look at him again.    “You on the other hand... I think you knew greatness even when you were human.  Did many great things.”

 _Tread carefully_.  Eric inclined his head.  “I suppose you might say that.  I was a king when I was human.”

“A king.  Of course you were,” she chuckled to herself.  “When was this?”

“A few centuries ago.”  Realising how much time had passed made him pause for a second, but he quickly composed himself.  “Godric sent me to thank you for the humans you sent.  They were greatly appreciated.”

“Oh, you’re most welcome.  They were Aulus’s suggestion really.”  She turned again.  “Jantine, my jewels.”

Jantine fetched a box and Aemilia studied its contents.  As she made her choice, the other two hand-maidens waited silently, though their expressionless face could have put Godric to shame.  Eric had no clue as to what they were thinking.  The other two wore the same style of white dress as Jantine and also had brown hair that was tied back. 

He wondered if all three had been turned by Aemilia.  If so, they would be loyal to her.  _I’ll get no secrets from them_.

This woman was making him uncomfortable and he still couldn’t figure out what she was trying to get out of him.  His own political skills were sorely out of practice – he felt a hundred steps behind her. 

“Tell me more about him.”

Eric's glanced at Jantine; she was looking him up and down blatantly.  “What would you like to know, your Highness?”

“Does he kill all the humans he feeds from?”

“Not all.”  Not entirely a lie.  Godric might let one live.  Rarely.  Very, very, very rarely.

“He killed Kallisto quite brutally.  Has he killed other vampires before?”

“No, your Highness.”  A lie.  Godric had killed three vampires that Eric knew of.  All of them had been loners and each had irritated him some way.

She nodded thoughtfully.  “And does he prefer men or women?”

Eric shrugged.  That was one he couldn’t really answer.  Godric was just blasé about it.

Instead of asking another question, she motioned to the shelves and he glanced at the numerous knick-knacks.  She smiled.  “Please, look.  They’re just trinkets I’ve collected during my stay here.” 

As he had no interest in the complicated hair braiding being done by the hand-maidens, he obeyed, looking over the assorted items she’d gathered.  He forced himself not to look at the three children.   

She watched his progress in the mirror.

“I gather you and Godric have a rather nomadic life then?”

“We do,” he said, trying to figure out the appeal of collecting clay elephants, “but I enjoy all the travelling.”

“That will have to change when he becomes a part of our council,” she laughed.  She selected a string of pearls from the box Jantine held and the hand-maiden clasped them around her neck.  Aemilia preened, admiring her reflection.  Eric wondered how he could have ever thought her attractive.  _Her ugly personality shows through her face_.

“And you’ve been _together_ all this time?” 

Eric didn’t pretend to misunderstand.  He looked over his shoulder at her and she was smiling coldly back at him, waiting for his answer.

 _I hope Godric is having better luck than I am_ , he thought bitterly.  He’d learned nothing so far other than she had a poor opinion of Godric, collected little decorations, liked to dress prettily and ask prying questions.

She studied him critically when he remained silent.  “Hmmm,” she mused.  “Either you won’t say or he’s commanded you not to.  Interesting.”  She turned to face the mirror again.  Once more the hand-maidens resumed their task. 

The hand-maiden applying her makeup must have made a mistake because Aemilia suddenly rounded on her, snarling furiously and abusing her in a language Eric didn’t recognise.  He quickly turned around and kept his back to them, feigning an intense interest in the baubles. 

He moved on to a row of necklaces that were apparently not valuable enough to wear.  Pendants on gold chains.  One of the pendants caught his eye and he snatched it up.

It was a small wolf carved from wood, covered in tiny markings.  Not just any markings – the runic mark he’d seen on the werewolves that killed his parents!

“Where did you get this?” he demanded, holding it out for her to see properly.  He didn’t care that he sounded rude.

Aemilia stopped her tirade and turned to look at him.  She seemed a little affronted by his demanding tone. 

“That thing?”  She smirked.  “I got it off Kallisto actually.  She no longer wanted it so she gave it to me.”

He recognised the lie immediately – the queen had taken it after Kallisto had died, but he didn’t care about that. 

If his heart was capable of it, it would have been beating frantically.  He tried to sound calm and polite.  “Where did Kallisto come from?”

“She came from the east.  Escaping the Mongols carving their way up the lands, I believe.”  She frowned.  “Or perhaps the barbarian vampires that have taken up residence there.”  She studied the rattled look on his face.  “Why does it interest you?”

Eric thought quickly.  He ducked his head and feigned a shy smile.  “There’s a woman that I... well, she has a collection of animal figurines with this symbol on it.  I don’t think she has a dog one.”  It was the best he could come up with.

“I think it’s meant to be a wolf.”  Aemilia turned around.  Obviously his story of unrequited love bored her.  “What’s her name?”

“Mary.”  He only knew one vampire called Mary and he hadn’t seen her in over two centuries.  Not since the night when she’d lost her Maker to the vampire blood drinking witches on Despotiko.

He set the symbol covered wolf back carefully, but couldn’t take his eyes off it.  _This is the closest thing to a clue I’ve come to in decades and I’ve found it in this harlot’s room_.  _And from Kallisto, no less_.

The two hand-maidens were finished and Aemilia stood up.  She looked him over again.  “I’m curious,” she said.  Though his mind was still on the werewolves, he faced her.  “You were a king.  Someone of importance.  Yet now you allow yourself to be bound to a slave boy?  Why?” 

Had her three hand-maidens not been standing there, Eric would have staked her.  _No, bound her in silver and thrown her in the midday sun_.  Anything to make her suffer for her words.  Hiding his fury, he forced his fangs back and kept his face blank. 

“He has lived for over a thousand years,” he replied, pleased with how calm his voice sounded, “and you call him a boy?”

“A pathetic slave that must fuck a king by force.”  Aemilia shook her head.  “How Hannibal and Aulus found him worthy of sitting on our council, I do not know.” 

Before Eric's jaw could drop in astonishment, she waved a hand.  “Jantine.  See him out.” 

And that was it.  He was dismissed. 

Utterly appalled, Eric followed Jantine to the door.  He’d been in Aemilia’s presence barely ten minutes and the most important thing he’d learned was that Kallisto had once encountered someone, or something, to do with the hated werewolves.  _Assuming the bitch was even telling the truth_. 

Jantine held the front door open for him.  “Goodnight,” she said softly, though he barely heard her, too caught up in his fury.  “I don’t expect we’ll meet again.”

That got his attention.  Eric glanced around, wary of an attack after the meeting.  But there was no-one else around.  “What makes you say that?” he demanded.

She shrugged.  “Aemilia kills her servants when she gets tired of them.”  She flashed him a cheeky grin.  “I like to enjoy small pleasure while I have them.  Your body is one.”

“You should leave then.”

“She is my Maker.”  Her smile dissolved into a grimace.  “There is nowhere I could go that I would be free of her.”

Eric wondered why Jantine was telling him this.  _Does she want my help_?  If so, he couldn’t think of how to help her.  She was as damned as the children.

“She told me once that when she was human, she was a mother,” Jantine continued.  “Does that seem strange to you?  She was a mother as a mortal, probably a loving one, yet now is such a cruel Maker.  Is your Maker like that?  Cruel?”

Eric shook his head.  “Godric is nothing like her.”  He stiffened, realising he’d made a mistake.  Until now, the Triumvirate had not had proof that Godric was his Maker and he’d just confirmed it for them.  _Stupid_!

Jantine smiled.  “So he is your Maker.” 

Eric stared at her coldly.  “Goodnight.”  He walked off, his mind already on the werewolves.  _So they’re east_.

“Wait!”

Reluctantly, he looked over his shoulder.  Jantine was running after him.  She stopped few feet away and glanced around, but still there was no-one about. 

Jantine drew a breath.

“Hannibal is the leader of the three.  He wants power, but he can be reasoned with.  His only Child is that hideous Magnus.  Aulus is petty, but a brilliant schemer -   the games were his idea.  Aulus has two progeny and he dotes on them.  Eli and Sarit.  But he denies that he is their Maker so they can’t be used against him.  They’re in Florence or Venice at the moment I think.  Aemilia is a manipulator and she is more heartless.  She has no other progeny.” 

Stunned by her outburst, Eric gaped at her.  “Why are you telling me all this?”

“I was taken from my family and told I would be immortal.  She **lied** to me.”  Jantine looked him over again.  “So I will make my mark on this world some other way.”

 _Not too different to what Godric felt_ , Eric decided, but he was still amazed.  “Even if it means betraying your Maker?”

“If she sends you more humans,” Jantine replied, “do not accept them and do **not** come back to her.”

Then Eric understood why he’d been lured to Aemilia’s house.  He thought back over their brief conversation, trying to figure out what conclusion she might have come to. 

Could she have realised that Godric loved him and would be heartbroken if he was killed?  Or would she decide that Godric used Eric as a plaything and would be utterly indifferent if died?  _Considering her filthy words and since she let me leave, perhaps it’s the latter?_

He looked down at Jantine, a vampire already doomed to meet the True Death once her Maker tired of her.  The tiny bit of information she had just given him would come in handy.  He touched her cheek.

“I’ll remember you,” he said simply.  He left her standing in the street, but she was smiling.

 

...

 

“We’re going east,” Eric said once Godric appeared, dropping silently from the sky. 

Godric raised an eyebrow at the declaration.  “We are?”

Dawn was a few hours away.  Eric had just finished digging the hole for them to spend the day in.  He’d been especially cautious to make sure they wouldn’t be found, but he wasn’t offended when Godric looked around as well.  He hadn’t told Godric where he would be, and even though the spot was nearly thirty miles from the nearest village, it that would not have presented a problem to Godric.  He could always find Eric. 

“Aemilia had taken a necklace that belonged to Kallisto,” Eric said when Godric finally sat down.  “It was a wolf covered in the marks.”  He smiled excitedly.  “She said Kallisto travelled from the east.  It’s the best clue we’ve had in a long time.  We **have** to go that way.  We’ll find something there.”

“You went to Aemilia to find out why she sent us those humans and instead all you learned was that Kallisto _possibly_ met werewolves related to those that killed your mortal family?”  Godric was visibly unimpressed with the lack of relevant information.

“I learned Aemilia is a she-devil,” Eric muttered.  He did not want to repeat the insults and disgusting comments to his Maker.  “I learned more from her servant.”

He reiterated the facts Jantine had revealed.  When he was done, he sighed.  “It’s cruel that she will kill Jantine when she’s bored with her.”

“Many say that Death is cruel, my Child,” Godric said with a shrug.  He would not care about her fate. 

“What did you learn?” Eric said.  “You were gone a long time.”

“Very little.  All the vampires here are... ignorant of what the Triumvirate have planned.  I do know they have asked three other vampires to join their council.  They’ve all agreed.”  Godric's fangs extended slightly.  “Already their army gathers.” 

He drew his legs up, resting his chin on his knees, becoming very still.  Eric remained quiet, wondering if Godric knew that he sat like this whenever he was deep in thought.

Finally, Godric looked up.  “The vampire warrior Athanasius,” he said slowly.  “I will ask for his help.”

The name was unfamiliar to Eric.  “Will he be able to help?”

 _More importantly, will he be willing to help_? 

“I think he will share my opinion, more or less.  Indiscriminate laws, but not so few leaders.”  Godric appeared uncertain.  “He may have ideas on how to prevent them from ruling fully.”

“Or he might want to rule himself,” Eric pointed out.  “Or agree with them.”

“Then I will have to take that risk.”  Godric took Eric's hand and squeezed gently.  “And as it so happens, he hunts in the east, so you will have your wish, my Child.”

“Well, if this is what you think is best,” Eric said, shrugging.

“I have no idea if it is the best thing to do,” Godric said grimly.  “But he is much older than me and was a warrior in his mortal life and as a vampire.  The challenge may appeal to him.”

Mildly pleased with the dubious solution, quite pleased they would be leaving, and very pleased they would be heading east, Eric pulled Godric towards him.  “Well, I’m thankful that after all this time there is finally some evidence that the wolves are not all in my head.” 

But before his lips met Godric's, Godric spoke again.  “Aemilia said something to make you angry.” 

Eric quickly let him go, alarmed at where this was going. 

“I felt your rage while you were with her.  What was it?” 

 _Is this concern or curiosity_?  Eric shook his head.  “Nothing important.”

He knew Godric could sense his reluctance now, but he could not bring himself to tell his Maker how Aemilia thought him a pathetic slave, a child, and most revoltingly, a rapist. 

“Eric.  What was said?”  Godric turned Eric's face towards his, but Eric would not meet his eyes and jerked away.

“It was nothing, Godric.  I shouldn’t have let it bother me.”  He looked down at the hole he’d dug earlier.  “We should cover ourselves for the day.”

“Yet it did.”  Godric sighed.  “You are not going to tell me, are you?”

Eric shook his head.  Then he realised what Godric was about to do and opened his mouth to protest, but Godric spoke first.

“As your Maker, I command you to tell me each word that was said between you and Aemilia.”

Instantly, Eric's mouth began to burn like it was on fire as his body tried to obey the command, but he fought against it anyway.  Glaring at his Maker, he covered his mouth and pushed his jaw shut, trying to stop the words from pouring out of his mouth.  His eyes began to water from the pain. 

Godric just watched and waited.  Finally Eric could stand it no longer and the hateful conversation burst out. 

“She said ‘Eric.  I wasn’t sure if you or Godric would come.  I’m glad you did though.  I much prefer your face....”  He felt ashamed just _saying_ the words aloud.

But when Eric was done, Godric laughed.

“What?”  Eric was both astonished and outraged.  _I’d be furious if someone said that about me_!  “Godric, how can you not hate her for saying such revolting things about you?”

“Hate her?” Godric repeated.  “My Child, a human might care what another thinks, but I do not. That she intends to control me makes me angry, but what her opinion is?  That means less to me than -”

“I know, I know,” Eric interrupted, knowing that a familiar scolding was about to take place.  “You’re not human.  You don’t think like a human.” 

Godric studied him, as if trying to decide if he actually did finally grasp the fact or was just parroting words he’d been repeatedly told.  Instead of replying, he got up and took off his clothes, hiding them in the nearby bushes.

Eric did the same, but for once, he was not in the mood to have sex with his Maker.  A fearsome fight, their future threatened; the troubling events of the night weighed heavily on his mind. 

But he didn’t object when Godric pulled him close and ran his fingers through Eric's long, blonde hair.  Eric closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation.  Godric smoothed out the tangles and the tips of his fingers pressed gently into Eric's scalp.  After several minutes, Eric lifted his head, indicating for them to change places so he could do Godric's back.

As Godric settled against him, Eric saw the ruby and opal bracelet he’d given Godric the night before glint in the moonlight.  His fingers traced over his Maker’s back and he grew thoughtful.  Just before he was done, he kissed the nape of Godric's neck.

“A part of you is human” he whispered.  “You know that.”

Godric kissed him.  “Only the part of me that loves you,” he acknowledged.  “Always.”

“And forever.”  Eric ran a finger over the tattoo on Godric's chest and the tattoos on his arms.  Then he asked something he hadn’t asked in centuries.  “What do these mean?” 

Godric let him go and got in the hole.  Knowing he wasn’t going to get an answer, Eric covered them up.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

There was a cold hand resting on his shoulder blade, another on the top of his head, fingers entwined in his blonde hair.  Eric didn't dare move.  He just wanted to enjoy feeling Godric nestled up against him.  Something that hadn’t happened in decades, but, despite everything between them, he had occasionally dreamed of it happening again.

Lying there now, he could reminisce about places they’d been in the past.  They were curled up in a cave in the forest, a bitter winter snowstorm howling outside.  Lying in a cellar, trying to ignore the sticky humidity of an Asian jungle.  Buried in the scratchy sand, enduring the stifling heat of the Egyptian desert.  A smile pulled at his mouth as he remembered that first soft bed in the Himalayas.

 _No,_ Eric thought.  _Be here, now._  

He rolled over, though Godric didn't stir.  _Always the late riser._   He studied his Maker, the nose that was just the tiniest bit too wide for his face, the full lips, the square jaw, thick eyebrows, and the dark brown hair.  After a millennium, it was so lovingly familiar to him.  He reached out, running his fingers over the soft curve of Godric's cheek.

His fingers continued down Godric's jaw, down his neck, and he let his hand rest on the dark tattoo that lined Godric's collarbone.  His fingers trailed down the spiked lines, one short, spiked line after the other.  He still had no idea what they meant.

Eric loved that how Godric adored having his skin touched in such a simple manner.  He loved how his eyes would glaze over in pleasure and he would sigh, or if he was in a more amorous mood, he would moan.  Such a harmless reaction from such a vicious creature.  More than once they had spent the night touching each other in such a way, too enthralled with each other's body to even think about hunting. 

Eric smiled wryly at his lovey-dovey thoughts.   

Godric caught Eric's hand and kissed his left wrist.  Eric startled, caught off guard yet again, but smiled happily when Godric opened his eyes.

Godric studied Eric's hand for a moment before gently kissing each fingertip, kissed his palm, almost licking it, and Eric watched as his Maker continued kissing up his arm, across his shoulder, up his neck, and to his lips. Eric kissed back hungrily, struggling to keep his fangs retracted, and his arms circled Godric's neck. Eventually their mouths parted and Godric looked up, his grey eyes hazy.

"Finally awake," Eric teased, pulling Godric close so he could look into his eyes properly.  _I could live to be ten thousand years old,_ Eric thought, _and I will never, ever forget how beautiful his eyes are._   Godric just smiled.  Eric stroked the back of Godric's neck, and after a few minutes, he tilted his face forward, his forehead touching Godric's. 

"You like this."  A statement.

"Yes."

Eric smiled and gently began kissing him again, letting his tongue slowly trail over Godric's top lip.  Godric sighed when he sucked on his bottom lip.  Eric could feel the tips of his Maker’s fangs.  But he was careful not to let them scratch him.  _Not yet._   

"And this?"

"Yes."  Godric's mouth twitched.

Eric moved away from Godric's mouth, kissing a trail down Godric's neck, licking and sucking down to the tattoo , but not hard enough to break the skin.  He moved lower still, his tongue licking the skin around Godric's nipples, but never touching them.  Just teasing.

When Godric arched beneath him, Eric could feel his frustration, in his body and their bond.  Eric trailed his nails down his Maker’s arms and pinned his wrists down.  He smiled broadly, pleased when his Maker didn’t twist away.  _Only a matter of time though,_ he reminded himself.  _Some things never change._

He looked over the pale body beneath him.  Whatever he'd done in his human life had given Godric a muscular body, despite his youth, and it was too tempting for Eric to _not_ touch it.  Without letting go of Godric's wrists, Eric began pressing his mouth against every bit of skin he could reach, licking and sucking hard enough to leave bruises that vanished as quickly as they appeared.

Occasionally he looked up, smiling at Godric's blurred gaze, and his Maker shifted restlessly under his lips.  Eric gently kissed the runes on Godric right arm, before moving over to the jagged lines on his left. 

Once more he licked his way to Godric's throat and Godric gasped, exposing his long, white fangs.  Eric leaned forward, licking the tips of Godric's fangs and his Maker groaned softy. 

Eric kissed the hollow of Godric's throat, nudged his head slightly to the side, and his fangs extended.

Eric's fangs sank easily into the soft flesh.  As the rapturous taste of Godric's blood filled his mouth, he pressed himself against his writhing Maker.  Godric's hands jerked out from under his and cold fingers tangled in Eric's hair, nails dragging across his scalp, pulling his head closer.

The blood burned down his throat, the most extraordinary sensation he had ever felt.  **Nothing** tasted better than Godric.  Beyond that, there was a sort of ... _tranquillity_ that he had only ever found with Godric when they were together like this.  There was nothing else in the world but them. 

Eric gasped, shivering, and his fangs withdrew.  A little dazed, Eric licked at the healing bite mark.  "And this?"

"Yes." Godric’s fangs brushed against the curve of Eric's neck and shoulder.  Godric struck, biting hard, and Eric moaned as he listened to Godric swallow, feeling his body rub up against him. 

Godric didn’t let go as Eric used one arm to balance himself.  Gasping, Eric's other hand moved down between them.

When Eric's hand reached its intended destination, Godric _did_ let go, arching up against him as Eric's hand moved up and down his cock.

Godric ran his tongue over Eric's teeth, letting his own fangs scratch Eric's tongue, drawing blood this time and Eric didn’t protest.  Just as Eric's hand moved faster, Godric grew more aggressive, his teeth biting at Eric's lips and blood trickled from the small wounds, covering their chins.

Eric twisted his head away for a second and Godric growled, but relented as Eric grabbed the small bottle from the bedside table.  Once Eric's fingers were slick, Godric went for Eric's mouth again.

But before his mouth reached Eric's, he gasped, distracted by Eric's hand cupping him.

Eric smiled, placing small kisses along Godric's jaw line up to his ear, nibbling gently, teasing, before sliding his hand between his legs. Godric moaned at the touch.  He moaned again when they slid further, and one slick finger slowly slid in.

Eric smiled as Godric shivered, his nails digging into Eric's back, drawing blood as he pulled him closer.

"And this?" Eric whispered huskily.

"Yes," Godric answered, his voice hoarse.

Eric carefully pushed another finger in, fingers as gentle as the kisses he pressed to Godric’s forehead.  When he pushed his fingers in deeper, Godric shuddered with each slight movement.

Eric slowed, wanting to savour each sweet second.  Not because this would be the last night  - _you_ _fool, don’t think about it_ – but because it was something they had done so rarely.  Eric seldom took the lead, truthfully, when he was with Godric, he usually preferred not to. 

He smiled to himself as he bit randomly across Godric's chest, taking small sips of blood from the shallow bites.  _I guess sometimes I’m just a selfish lover._

His Maker groaned softly when Eric's mouth reached his own once more, his tongue sliding against Eric's to taste his own blood in Eric's mouth. 

Eric licked his lips, sighing at the taste.  “This?”

He blinked, startled when Godric laughed softly.  With the unnatural speed of their kind, Godric's body shifted away from Eric's fingers, his arm moved to the bedside table, his hand rubbed liquid over Eric's cock, and he rolled Eric over to straddle him.  It took less than a second.

Eric lifted his head, wanting to be kissed as his Maker entered him, but instead he gasped in both shock and pleasure as Godric began to lower himself onto Eric's cock.

His fingers dug into Godric's side, gasping at the tightness, aching for more, but wanting it to last as long as possible.

As Eric tried to collect himself, Godric watched his expression, smiling in amusement.

"Do you like this?" Godric asked after a few seconds.  He rocked his hips gently.  For a moment Eric felt the familiar dizziness, the thrill that threatened to push him over the edge, and for a moment it was so good he almost came.

Eric jerked Godric's face back to his, running his tongue over Godric's fangs.  "Don't ask stupid questions." 

He caught Godric's throat in his mouth.  It seemed every part of him was on fire and Eric was vaguely aware that they were moving in unison.  He felt the link again and suddenly he could taste Godric's excitement through their bond. 

Letting go of Godric's neck, He watched as the wound heal over and smiled when Godric let out a low sigh, his eyes drifting shut. Eric sped up, gripping Godric's hips.  The intense feeling returned, seeming to verge on pain, twisting tighter and tighter. 

_No, not yet, not yet..._

Eric sat up, changing the angle.  Clinging to his back, Godric gasped raggedly, his eyes wide now, dazed.

Godric shut his eyes again and pressed his face against Eric's chest when Eric slowed his motions, changing from fast to gentle.  But it didn’t seem to help.  He was close, he could feel every part of him tensing, growing more impatient for release. 

When Godric began to tremble too, Eric nipped his ear sharply, drawing blood, which he promptly licked up.  "Wait."

Hearing Eric's demand, Godric's eyes snapped open, a mixture of exasperation and disbelief on his face, perhaps doubting his own stamina.  Eric smiled, watching triumphantly. 

It was always a delight to watch his Maker struggle against his lust.  Knowing he was the cause of the struggle made the victory all the sweeter.   

Upon seeing the smugness on Eric's face, Godric narrowed his eyes slightly, and began to move faster, rocking back and forth, catching Eric by surprise.  Eric found he was no longer able to control his own desire. 

“As hard as you can,” Godric gasped, clasping Eric by the hips to pull him in even deeper.

Eric quickened his pace again and when Godric groaned, Eric cried out. Lightheaded with the intensity of his climax, he slumped against Godric for a moment before withdrawing. 

"I thought you said wait?" Godric taunted, grinding up against Eric's abdomen.  Eric realised that Godric hadn’t come yet.  Not for the first time, he was jealous of his Maker’s self control. 

Before Eric could even open his mouth in reply, Godric slicked himself and lifted one of Eric's legs over his shoulder.  Eric moaned as Godric very gently entered him.  He whimpered in protest when his Maker withdrew partway, but then he shivered as Godric slowly thrust forward again.

It happened over and over until Godric was fully inside him.  Trembling with effort of staying still, Godric leaned over and bit one of Eric's nipples.  Eric writhed, listening as Godric greedily gulped down his blood.  Godric growled softly, raising his bloodied mouth to Eric's to kiss him fiercely. 

Godric began to move and it wasn’t long before Eric could feel Godric's mind untangle as instinct took over.  Letting go of Eric's mouth, Godric increased his pace and Eric responded by pushing back just as hard. 

Eric reached out, intending to pull Godric's head forward to kiss him again, but Godric bit the inside of his wrist instead, sucking hard on the wound.  Eric gasped, arching forward to twist his fingers in Godric's hair, forcing his Maker’s head forward, forcing his fangs in deeper.

Entwined in their bond, caught between bliss and exquisite pain, they both moaned, coming together, shuddering violently, Godric's fingers digging into Eric's skin and biting even harder on his wrist.

Godric collapsed against him and Eric slumped back on the bed.  They rested against each other, exhausted, yet perfectly still.

Godric lifted his head, smiled lazily and ran his tongue up Eric's cheek, lapping at the spilled blood.  When he was done, Godric settled against him.  Eric glanced down and saw a peaceful smile on Godric's face.

Eric cupped his face and kissed him.  "Always," he prompted.

"And forever," Godric completed, sighing.  He smiled, running his fingers over Eric's face.  Their shared phrase, repeated over and over for centuries.  It belonged to them as surely as they belonged to each other.

 


	20. Chapter Twenty

Someone was nuzzling his neck, coaxing him awake with gentle licks and kisses.  Though Eric would never admit it, it was a sensation he enjoyed tremendously and it was not one that occurred often.  He never went to sleep beside a human lover; that was just plain stupid.  During the very, very, _very_ brief period when he and Pam had been lovers had been the last time. 

 _Not that she'd been overly affectionate_.  Besides, Pam's idea of waking him up was to kick him out of bed so that his skull hit the floor.

Eric pretended to be asleep just so he could enjoy the nuzzling a little longer.  He and Godric had spent the entire night in bed.  Lazy moments with soft, gentle kisses had quickly become fiercer, hungrier.  Affectionate touches became infused with desire and soon they found themselves gasping and shuddering.  Bites healed over quickly, only to be reopened as they sank their fangs into each other as they came, each time more intense than the last.

In-between their lovemaking, they would rest against each other.  Eric could feel the passing minutes during the brief interludes, and he trembled, not in lust, but fear, knowing what was to come.  Then Godric would look at him, smile, and kiss him. 

The nuzzling stopped.  Eric drew a breath and reluctantly opened his eyes.   A pair of solemn grey eyes looked straight into his.

 

It was half an hour before dawn.

 

They sat on a picnic table in a park near Eric's house, their feet resting on the dirty seat benches. 

The park was scattered with trees, and in the middle, shrubby bushes formed a small maze simple enough for young children to solve.  There was a gazebo, a few swings, a battered slide, a seesaw, and several animals on springs that bobbed back and forth.  Benches and tables, covered in graffiti, were set in the more picturesque spots, designed for picnics, but mostly used by teens hanging around late at night.  But at this hour, they were alone.

Godric had his eyes closed, resting his head against Eric's shoulder.  Eric stared at his feet, trying to distract himself by reading the graffiti scrawled into the wood there.

KATIE LUVS MIKE 4EVA.  REECE 4 ~~JULIA~~ MISSY.  RYAN + ~~JULIA~~.  RYAN SUX COCKS. 

Scorned for a girl called Missy by Reece, rejected by Ryan.  Evidently, this Julia didn't have much luck with her men.  _Perhaps she should ask Katie for advice_.  But thinking about her plight didn't work.  The stars were fading rapidly as the sky lightened.

 

_I can't accept this. It's insanity!_

_Our **existence** is insanity.  We don't belong here._

_But we are here!_

_It's not right. We're not right._

_You taught me there was no right or wrong. Only survival or death!_

_I told a lie, as it turns out._

_I will keep you alive by force!_

_Even if you could, why would you be so cruel?_

_Godric, don't do it._

_There are centuries of faith and love between us._

_Please, please... Please Godric!_

_Father... brother... child.  Let me go._

_I won't let you die alone._

_Yes, you will.  As your Maker, I command you._

 

A bird woke, chirruping sleepily at first, but quickly it became louder.  Eric glanced up, scanning the treetops for the source of the noise.  Beside him Godric stirred, lifting his head off Eric's shoulder and Eric instantly missed the weight. 

Eric squeezed Godric's icy hand and Godric squeezed back as he slid off the table.  Now they were open, Godric's eyes were drawn east towards the rising sun, the pale light reflecting in the grey depths. 

 

The sky grew brighter.

 

Now standing, Godric was slightly taller than Eric, who remained on the table.  He tilted Eric's chin up to look him in the eye.  "Do you remember what I promised?"

As he spoke, Eric could _feel_ Godric's immense peace.  It filled him with such calm joy that he wondered how he could have wept last time. 

“I am always with you, my Child.”  His Maker kissed him, soft and tender.  "Never forget it."

 

The few clouds in the sky were pink and orange.

 

Daylight began to prick at his skin and Eric flinched at the pain.  He would stay this time, but underground.  He got up and went over to a hole he'd dug earlier for himself. 

After he’d mostly covered himself, Godric knelt down beside him.  There was smoke rising from their skin.  Godric touched Eric's face, his fingers running down Eric's cheek to rest on his lips, grey eyes gazed into blue.  He smiled and Eric smiled back. 

"Always and forever," Godric whispered.  He kissed him, a final time, and Eric felt the centuries of their love in the kiss.  Nothing else mattered but that.  Eric lay down. 

Not caring that his fingers would burn away, Eric pushed his hand up through the dirt.  Godric twined his fingers with Eric's. 

 

The sun rose.

 

A few seconds later, their fingers dissolved together in the morning sunlight. Godric's ashes mingled with the ashes of Eric's fingers before they disappeared in the breeze.

 


	21. Chapter Twenty-one

There was a rock poking him in the shoulder.  It had been quite some time since he'd slept in the earth and Eric found it surprising how easily one could get use to modern comforts - such as a king size bed – despite the fact that for many years he'd made do without. 

That little irritation of a rock sticking into him was enough to remind him that he had bigger problems to deal with. 

He had to find out what had been discovered at Ruben's house.  He needed to get more information on the movements of Sophie-Anne and the Authority to stay ahead of them to avoid prosecution.  He had his sheriff duties; he needed to get updates from the other sheriffs of Louisiana.  He had to check on Fangtasia.  He had to find out what Pam had done about the werewolves. 

 _It’s a long list, but it’s a welcome distraction,_ he figured, absently flexing his new fingers _._   _Worked once, it’ll work again_.

Shaking dirt out of his hair as he stood up, female voices caught his attention at the far end of the park.  Eric's fangs lengthened and he smiled. 

A young blonde and a brunette, probably not even out of their teens, were giggling to each other, watching something on an iPhone.  The blonde one had a dog, some yapping thing that resembled a mop, now straining against its leash in his direction.  Blondie looked around to see what had gotten her dog's attention and saw him.

She blatantly looked him up and down, appraising him warily, and Eric wondered if the fact that he was covered in dirt would make her run.  He wasn't in the mood for a chase, as fun as that could be.  He cocked his head slightly, showing off his fangs.  Her eyes widened when she realised what he was and she nudged her friend. 

Her friend looked up from the phone.  Her eyes widened too, but after a few quick whispers between them, their smiles become sexily coy.  _Too easy_. 

"You look like you just woke up," said Blondie, tossing her hair over her shoulder.  The smiling girls came closer, but stopped just out of reach.  The dog whined loudly.

"I think your dog wants to go play," Eric said, pitching his voice just so as he caught Blondie's eye.  Blondie let go of the leash immediately and the barking dog darted away.  _Good_.  Animals could be annoying, particularly loyal animals like dogs.  He glanced at the dark haired girl, and then the two girls stared at him with glazed eyes and dazed, fixed smiles.   

He decided to go with the blonde first.  _The brunette looks a little like Yvetta_.  The woman's treachery still narked him, but he'd left her fate to Pam. 

Smiling, he picked up her wrist, whispered an inane compliment, and sunk his fangs in.  She sighed in pleasure, closing her eyes, smiling dreamily as she relaxed against him. 

Her immediate attraction to him made her blood taste sweeter.  Not as good as if they were having sex though.  _Or if she was afraid_. 

The brunette swayed slightly, shaking off the glamour a little now that his attention was elsewhere.  It was still strong enough that she didn't notice them beside her. 

Smiling vaguely, she wandered off after the mop dog.  "Gaga, come here, girl."

Blondie sighed again and after a few minutes, Eric let her go.  If he drank anymore she would pass out and that would just lead to hassle.  He licked his lips and glanced up for her friend with the still barking dog.

He froze.  The dark haired girl was pulling the dog away from someone.

Godric. 

"Stop it, Gaga," she scolded and looked at Godric apologetically.  "I'm sorry, she's really naughty."

Godric stood up shakily.  Eric was rooted to the spot, too shocked to move or say anything.  He could only stare in disbelief. 

The dog continued to bark unrelentingly, getting increasingly louder.  Godric looked around, disconcerted.  Eric could see he was blinking furiously; the fluorescent light coming from the nearby lampposts was probably hurting his sensitive eyes.   

The girl dragged the dog by its pink rhinestone studded collar, but it just squirmed and kept barking.  "Gaga, quit it!"

When it finally wriggled out of its collar and jumped up on Godric's leg, he jerked back and snarled, baring his fangs.  The girl shrieked in fright, falling back, and the stupid dog took off, yelping shrilly in terror. 

The screeching of the girl attracted Godric's attention.  His Maker looked down at the girl and when she looked back at him, he held her gaze.  Her eyes got wider and wider, glassier and glassier, and her face went pale.  When she made a faint whimpering noise, Eric realised that Godric was destroying every nerve in her brain as he hypnotised at her.  

Dashing forward, Eric hauled the girl to her feet and whipped her around to face him.  She looked up at him blankly and he grimaced.  She had the vacant look of a catatonic and she was struggling to breathe.  _Another few seconds and she'd have been brain-dead_.  He knew old vampires had the ability to permanently damage the minds of humans, but he wouldn’t have thought Godric the type to hurt them like that.  _Maybe he didn’t realise he was doing it?_

"Go," he said quickly, hoping she would recover, "and forget this."

She stumbled, tripping over her own feet at first, but eventually regained her sense of balance, at least enough to rush after the dog.  That was a promising sign. 

Eric looked back at the blonde.  Her dreamy smile had faded and she looked troubled by the noise, but was still hypnotised enough to remain unaware of the situation.  "Go with your friend," he ordered and she took off as well.

 _He's not real, just a figment of my imagination.  I'll count to three_ , he decided, _and when I turn around, he'll be gone_. 

 _One, two, three_.

Eric slowly turned and Godric was still standing there, looking in the direction of the running girls. 

"Godric?" he said tentatively.  He wasn’t quite game to touch him.  _That would make him real_.

Godric looked around.  It took him a few seconds to zero in on the noise.  He stared blankly, as if not recognising him.  Eric grew increasingly anxious when his Maker looked away.  He heard the soft snick of Godric's fangs retracting. 

"Eric?" he said uncertainly, looking up.  “Is -”

"Yes," Eric said before he could finish, though not really sure what he was answering.  He moved closer, but stopped when Godric stepped back, nearly stumbling over his own feet in the process.  “Do you remember the past few days?”   

“Yes,” Godric whispered, scratching his hand, so hard that he gouged five deep red lines in his skin.  He blinked and looked down at his hand, watching as blood trickled between his fingers before the wounds healed.  “I remember.”  He rubbed his temples.  "Did I hurt her?"

It took a second for Eric to realise what Godric meant. 

"Maybe," Eric said, still looking him over.  He looked exactly the same, still wearing the same clothes from last night, the sweatpants and an old blue shirt, now dirtied from the dog jumping on him.  "But I think she'll get over it." 

Godric frowned, hearing the doubtfulness in Eric's voice.  "I should check."

"No," Eric said sharply.  It was not a good idea to be caught near a human that had a breakdown due to a vampire's influence.  As a Sheriff, it was not something he wanted to be dealing with at the moment.  "She'll be fine.  Probably just a bit giddy for a few days."

Accepting the white lie, Godric looked around the park and then up at the newly darkened sky, his eyes flickering from one star to another.  He looked at the moon, only slightly different from the night before.  He stared at it for a long time, as if confirming that time had indeed passed, and then buried his face in his hands.  It was the only movement he made. 

It finally sank in.  Godric was still alive – or alive yet again.  _How_? _How_?  _How_? _How_?  _How_? _How_?  _How_? _How_?

 _I **felt** him die_!

Eric turned away, fumbling for an explanation.  _Vampires don't just come back from True Death like this._ He gulped, sickened and frightened.  Eric tried reaching out mentally to see if he could connect with his Maker’s mind.  It worked.  And it was terrifying.

Every movement was an incredible effort and each thought was like torture.  Being alive was a near unbearable prison for Godric.  Eric could feel the agony and it was made all the worse by now knowing that for a tiny period, Godric _had_ been somewhere that he had been at peace.  Truly happy for the first time in a very long time and now that contentment had been stolen away for some unexplained reason.  Eric thought of the bliss he’d felt when Godric was in his arms, what he’d seen in Godric's eyes before dawn and -  

Then Godric was standing next to him, his hand touching Eric’s shoulder lightly.  Eric turned and saw unreadable grey eyes in an expressionless face.  Godric withdrew his hand.   

"You must have work to do?"  Godric's voice was eerily composed.  But it was the same resigned voice he’d used – _had_ \- in Dallas.  The one Eric had found terrifying as it gradually dawned on him what it really meant.

Eric felt helpless, a feeling he detested.  He wanted to comfort Godric, but knew there was not a single thing he could say.  "Yes," he said slowly.  "I need to speak to Pam and the other sheriffs."

"Then we should return to your house," Godric said.  "Or do you need to go to your club?"

Eric raked a hand through his hair, shaking more dirt free.  _I need to have a shower – if Pam sees my hair like this, she'll want to fix it up, and I'm not in the mood for her to be playing around with it.  Wait, hair?  Of all the ridiculous things to be worried about!_  

"No, I can work from home."  Something he tried to avoid doing because he didn’t like bringing work home, but he could certainly make an exception for tonight.

"Very well," Godric said.  He strode past purposefully, heading back to Eric's house.  Eric stood there, dumbstruck.  _If Russell knew this spell, then how has he kept it a secret?  Does he use it too?  Is that the secret to his great age?  Has he died before and this spell has brought him back?_

"Eric!"

Eric jumped, looking up.  Godric was at the far end of the park, visibly annoyed.  "Hurry up," he said sternly.  He remained where he was until Eric was at his side.  The annoyed look melted into nothingness again when he began walking.

 _He's too calm_ , Eric thought, keeping pace with him.  Godric was without a doubt the strongest, most controlled person he knew, but still...  _God, how can anyone endure that pain?_

He glanced sideways at his Maker, but Godric just looked straight ahead.  He couldn’t help it - Eric stopped walking. 

“This is crazy.  Godric, what the **fuck** happened?”

Now a few steps ahead, Godric paused, but didn’t turn around.  He just looked forward, silent.  Eric grabbed his upper arm, meaning to turn him around to look into his face, but suddenly Godric's hand was around his throat and he’d been forced to his knees.  Eric was too shocked to struggle, not that he could have moved in this grip.

“Do **not** touch me,” Godric snarled softly, squeezing tightly enough to crush his throat.  Eric couldn’t even move his head to nod that he understood, so he just blinked.  After a minute, Godric appeared satisfied with Eric's frightened response and let him go.  He turned around and began walking again.

Eric stumbled to his feet as his throat healed and followed his Maker, remaining at cautious distance.  He scowled at Godric's back, furious at being incapacitated in such a degrading manner.   

As he put the keys in the front door, Eric stubbornly tried his question again. 

“Godric...”

“Please don’t, my Child.”  Godric gazed impassively at the road.  Eric sighed and opened the door. 

Once inside, Eric began rummaging through the back of a linen closet.  After a few seconds of flinging sheets and blankets out of the way, he found the box he was looking for and a garbage bag of old clothes. 

Godric was sitting on the sofa, his hands resting on his knees, staring into space when Eric dropped the box of clothes in front of him.  Prototypes of the tourist shirts for Fangtasia, mostly red and black ones with the logo on the front and back.  Pam had given them to him to decide upon, but of course, he'd just left it up to her.  He'd meant to get rid of them, but just hadn't gotten around to it. 

"One of these should fit," Eric said, painfully aware of how strained his voice sounded.  "At least until I can get you some decent clothes.  That stupid dog slobbered all over what you’re wearing."

 _At least until_... Eric stepped back, not sure if what he’d just said was actual thoughtlessness or if he meant something else.  Godric stared at him for a minute and then bent down, picking up a black shirt from the box and finding a pair of jeans in the bag. 

"It doesn't matter," he said softly.  Eric stiffened.  Godric noticed Eric's reaction to the echo of their conversation two nights ago, adding, "They're only clothes, Eric."

Eric went back downstairs to shower.  Ten minutes later, with water dripping down his face, he looked at his reflection, trying to get control of himself.  _What the **fuck** has happened?_

He suddenly heard Russell's taunting laughter.

 

_You will regret this._

 

 _Just... how_? 

He closed his eyes.  Pam was nearby, he could sense it.  She was anxious, very anxious.  He could guess why.  _She has news and it isn't good_.

The Authority and Sophie-Anne were finally circling like buzzards, waiting for the right opportunity to strike.  Spies had given him updates on their movements, but their lack of action concerned him.  The waiting was infuriating, but he did not want to act prematurely - to do so would be suicide.  _Guess the wait is over_ , he thought grimly.

Godric was nowhere to be seen, but he was still in the house.  Eric listened for a few seconds and heard movement in the other bathroom.  The box of clothes had been put neatly on the kitchen countertop, the bag beside it.     

He pulled open the front door before Pam had even lifted a hand to press the doorbell.  He looked down at her and waited.

"The Authority has selected a new Magister," she said unhappily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story hasn't been abandoned, there is LOTS more to come. Soon, I promise!


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